You Are The Risk I'll Always Take
by sandie.eggo
Summary: Ariadne convinces Arthur that love is a risk worth taking. A look into the development of Arthur and Ariadne's relationship during Inception and beyond.
1. I'll Hold My Breath

**Author's Greeting:** Hello! This fic is my take on what I think could have happened between Arthur and Ariadne during and (hopefully) after Inception (if Inception were a love story of sorts, focusing on these two instead of the whole, what is a dream vs reality, man in anguish over dead wife, moral ambiguity of invading a person's subconscious-thing-that Inception was about). Basically, this is a self-indulgent take (i.e., what I want to see happen) over the course of the A/A relationship.

Warnings: This fic is fluffy. A chapter or two down the line will have a mature rating.

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title and chapter 1 title come from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter1 rating: PG

* * *

**Chapter 1: I'll Hold My Breath**

**Ariadne POV**

Ariadne watched him walk past her towards her university's School of Architecture building. She had been staring off into space, daydreaming about a museum she hoped to design someday in a picturesque park. He caught her eye and disrupted her musings with his slightly unusual presence; he was out of place in this setting, carrying a brown paper shopping bag and not dressing like a typical college student. He paused before going into the building, looking like he was debating something in his mind. Whatever it was didn't stop him from entering. After he disappeared inside she didn't give him a second thought.

She had been and is currently sitting on the edge of a quiet fountain in the plaza near the Architecture building. Her left leg is curled in front of her, the right one dangles over the fountain's ledge. An open sketchpad lies on her lap. Stephen was after her regarding her final project. They parted ways earlier that morning when she told him she needed space, a place to think, maybe gather some inspiration. He understood; he could never think in his own broom cupboard of an office, he liked to say.

She is engrossed in a design she's creating. Bent over, her hair creating a curtain between her and everything else, she doesn't hear anyone approach.

"Ah, Ariadne, I thought I might find you here."

It is Professor Miles. Standing next to him is the man she had been observing earlier.

"Stephen, you aren't here to get on my case again, are you? Because if you are you can save your breath, I'm working on something right now." Smiling, she indicates the sketchpad she in her lap.

The professor gives a small laugh. "No, I didn't come here to do that, although I'm glad to hear you're working on your project. Actually, I came looking for you because I want to introduce you to Mr. Cobb."

She rises from her seat, sets aside her sketchpad on the fountain ledge and quickly sizes up this Mr. Cobb. On closer inspection she can see that he is a handsome man. His clothing looks expensive and is tailored to his medium build. He is sporting a goatee that she decides makes him appear his age, mid-thirties. Without it, he could have looked a few years younger. His hands are in his pockets and he doesn't have the brown paper bag from earlier. His most intriguing feature is his blue eyes. They are not the eyes of a happy man. They look lusterless and maybe a little bit…desperate.

"Nice to meet you," she says politely.

He nods an acknowledgement and Professor Miles continues. "If you don't mind, Mr. Cobb has an offer he would like to discuss with you."

"An internship?" she asks, hopefully.

Smiling, Cobb replies cryptically, "Not exactly." He makes a move to indicate she sit down. She hesitates when her mentor bids his goodbye.

"Don't worry Ariadne, you can trust Mr. Cobb."

Before he walks away he gives Cobb a brief look. She wonders if it means, 'don't contradict me.'

Cobb motions for her to sit down again. Ariadne does this time, closing the opened sketchpad and putting it in her portfolio. He sits in the vacated space and pulls out his own small pad of paper and a pen. He hands them to her and she takes it with a question in her eyes.

"A test," he answers.

* * *

The man is a bit infuriating, she later decides. It was like he had these great secrets and he is teasing her with them. And damn her curiosity, but she needs to find out what those secrets are. This is why she is agreeing to accompany him to a warehouse a few of miles from the university. She wants to understand those secrets.

"Have you ever heard of shared dreaming?" he asks as they walk along some small Parisian streets.

"No, what is it?"

"It's a whole new way of creating and showing people your creations, all while you sleep."

"Is this any different or better than doing it in waking life?"

"Yes," is his brief answer; he pauses before elaborating, "because you'll be able to do and build the impossible."

She has to hand it to him. He knows exactly what to tell her to pique her curiosity.

Ordinarily, Ariadne wouldn't just blindly follow a man she just met to some warehouse on the outskirts of Paris; she is more sensible than that. But Stephen told her she could trust Cobb, and she trusts her mentor.

And, there is that matter with Cobb's eyes. It is as if they are calling out to her. There is a hint of desperation in them. Like he needs something, or someone to help him figure out a puzzle he desperately needs solved.

They arrive at the warehouse after about thirty minutes. It's on a small street in a surprisingly quiet section in Paris. The adjacent buildings look empty. They enter through a large wooden door that is intricately carved. The building is huge. The ceiling is vaulted high and there are windows everywhere covered with old Parisian newsprint that has yellowed with age. Large Corinthian column supports are strategically placed within the large space and along one wall are some rooms. They are probably offices or workspaces. Most of the remaining area is open floor space littered with work tables and mismatched chairs. In one corner she sees some lawn chairs strewn about. There is also a well-dressed man standing next to an open case.

Seeing them enter the man approaches, walking confidently, his face serious. Ariadne can't help but stare at him. He is well put together and extremely handsome. His buttoned-up shirt, waistcoat, tie, slacks, and shoes are all coordinated and tailored perfectly to his lean form. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to reveal corded forearms. His dark hair is slicked back, none of it out of place. He stops in front of them and places his hands in his pockets. His dark eyes have a bit of a mischievous look to them. One side of his mouth quirks up slightly.

He is, in a word, perfect.

Cobb introduces him simply as Arthur.

"Hello."

His perfection has rendered her stupid. This is the only logical explanation as to why she continues to stare and not reply to his greeting.

He reaches out a hand to shake hers and she at least has the presence of mind to stick hers out. She can tell he is sizing her up and she wonders if he thinks her stupid too. In a quick fit of vanity she wishes she had put on some make-up this morning, maybe worn a different outfit, run a comb through her hair.

His hand is warm; his grip firm. After he releases her hand it tingles from the contact and a warmth travels up her arm. She's pretty sure he can tell her breathing quickened. He doesn't appear to be affected by her.

Cobb stares at the both of them, eyes darting between one and the other. His face doesn't betray any emotion. Turning to Arthur he says, "I'm going to introduce Ariadne to dream sharing. Get everything ready."

Arthur seems to know what this command means and without a word he heads back toward the lawn chairs and the open case. He starts pulling out tubing.

Cobb leads Ariadne to the lawn chairs.

"What is he doing?"

"In order to share dreams we need to be hooked up to that machine." He indicates the open case that Arthur is working on. "A sleeping agent is injected into our blood stream which causes us to automatically enter the dream state. Arthur is getting the IVs ready."

"Is he going to be joining us in the dream too?"

With his back turned to them, Arthur answers, "I'm going to be monitoring the machine, making sure everything is working properly."

Ariadne is disappointed but also starts to feel self-conscious. She should probably be asking questions regarding the shared dream process itself, not what Arthur will be doing.

But if Cobb thinks her silence toward the dreaming experience is odd, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he takes a seat on a lawn chair. Ariadne sets herself down on one nearby. Arthur walks over and hands Cobb a tube.

"Arthur will get you ready." It's the last thing Cobb says before injecting himself and relaxing back in the chair. He falls asleep quickly.

Focused on Cobb, Ariadne startles when she hears Arthur's soft, deep voice beside her.

"You'll need to roll up your sleeve or take off your jacket. I'd prefer it if you take it off."

He's kneeling so close she can smell his aftershave; she wants to breathe him in. Turning her head she stares at him. He stares back, a ghost of a smile on his lips. She tells herself that he's not flirting with her; it's just her overloaded senses that make his suggestion sound intimate. Still, she turns her head away to hide a flush as she makes a concentrated effort to remove her jacket.

Arthur takes her arm, bringing her palm up. His touch is gentle and she starts to wonder what it would feel like if he touched her body in other places. The thought causes her to tense up.

"Relax, you'll only feel a small prick."

After swabbing her wrist with alcohol, he gently inserts the needle in her wrist then attaches some tape over it to keep it in place. His amused expression is the last thing she sees before she succumbs to sleep.

* * *

**Author's Confessions:**

I'm in awe of all the great Inception fics out there. I wanted to try to add to the archives. Don't be afraid to tell me what you think.

This fic was/is supposed to lead to sex. Yeah...I'm not there yet.


	2. Hard Not To Come

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Aside from the chapter title, words in **BOLD** denote Arthur's writing.

Chapter2 rating: PG-13

* * *

**Chapter 2: Hard Not To Come**

She'll be back.

Cobb is certain of it, but Arthur is skeptical. Maybe more accurately, Arthur isn't completely sure if he wants her to return or not.

He is in the warehouse running a maintenance check on a PASIV device. As point man he's done this countless times so it's not difficult for his mind to wander from the device to the pretty little architect.

Ariadne is…interesting. She has some admirable qualities that would be beneficial to the team, but Arthur's instincts are warning him that she may be a liability—a risk. He can't put his finger on why that may be. Needing to approach his thoughts in a more systematic way, Arthur abandons the device and reaches for his Moleskine and a pen. Finding a blank page he begins to list the pros and cons of having Ariadne on the team.

**Ariadne (Architect)**  
**Strengths**

Arthur decides to begin with her strengths and jots down a short list. When he finishes he goes through the list one item at a time to make sure the items are justifiable. As he scans his list he realizes that she is nothing at all like what he was expecting Cobb to bring back when he went out searching for a new architect. First of all, she is a female. Arthur has mostly worked with male architects. Extraction, after all, is a male dominated field.

But, if she's as good as Cobb believes her to be then maybe shaking things up a bit wouldn't hurt this time around. One of their most recent failures, the Cobol job with Nash as architect, still left a bad taste in his mouth. God knew they were going to need all the help they could get to perform inception.

Besides, with Eames apparently joining the team Arthur had to get used to the notion of 'shaking things up.' It was one of the things Eames was good at.

But, he digresses. Back to Ariadne and his list.

**Intelligent/A Quick Study**  
These were qualities that he realized right away. After going through that first dream she impressed Arthur with her inquisitive nature and questions about shared dreaming. He was further impressed when she eagerly agreed to Cobb's suggestion of going under a second time, allowing her to take the lead and be the creator of the dream. Afterward, Cobb remarked that she was a quick learner. That would be essential due to her inexperience, the complexity of what they are undertaking, and the uncertain timeframe of the job.

**Resilient **  
When she fearfully awoke from the second dream he worried that she would start crying and leave, cursing them as insane bastards for putting her through an ordeal. Holding her hand and trying to assure her she was okay, she surprised him when she started yelling at Cobb about his deep rooted issues—about Mal. She wasn't afraid to let Cobb have a piece of her mind for whatever it was Mal did to her in the dream. He knew first hand Cobb's projection wife could be a bit sadistic.

**Perceptive**  
Ariadne seemed to have an intuitive understanding of the human psyche. She was already figuring out what demons were haunting Cobb's mind. He, on the other hand had known and worked with Cobb for years and he still hadn't fully figured out what Cobb was hiding. It took her just one dream share with Cobb to learn as much, if not more, than Arthur. He was a little bit jealous of this ability.

**Amusing**  
Smiling to himself, Arthur admits that this isn't really a strength apropos to the job. Actually, it wasn't appropriate to anything, he just found Ariadne's rather blatant attraction towards him the other day amusing.

Arthur knows he's an attractive guy. It isn't conceit on his part to think that. He dresses and acts in the manner that he does because it is all vital to the job and persona of a highly effective point man. And Arthur is one of the best. Level-headed, calm, cool, controlled; this is who he is. It's important in his line of work to be liked, trusted, respected, and even a little feared. Attention to detail is necessary to maintain that success. These traits carried over to his looks. And most people, mostly women, liked what they saw.

Ariadne, apparently, is like most women.

He would be lying if he didn't confess to enjoying her attentions. Not that he would ever deliberately encourage them. Well, except for that one time the other day. But he was just teasing her because he couldn't help himself; she made it so damn easy. And he couldn't say it wasn't worth it to see her flustered when he told her he preferred her with her jacket off.

It was just a little harmless flirtation. Nothing would come of it. Nothing _could_ come of it. He didn't have the time or the lifestyle to encourage a serious relationship. The dangerous nature of his job saw to that. Not that he didn't enjoy the company of a beautiful woman, few and far-in-between as they were, but he had a feeling casual flings weren't her thing. If Ariadne is developing a crush, like he suspects, it will be wise to squash any hope for something more. He doesn't need the complications or the guilt.

It was too bad. In any other situation he might have pursued her. She is pretty, Arthur could admit that. Aside from her other attributes she has a lot of features that he finds attractive. Like her **long dark brown wavy hair**. Her **wide, dark eyes**. **Creamy complexion, svelte body**—

Frowning because he had gotten way off topic and had written down those last few 'strengths', he shuts his notebook and returns to the PASIV. He needs to be careful with her. It wouldn't be too difficult he assures himself. Besides, in this line of work there is no room for mixing business with pleasure. He is and would always be the consummate professional.

Assured that he can handle himself with Ariadne, Arthur immerses himself in the PASIV device. Not long afterwards he hears a polite clearing of a throat.

So Cobb was right.

* * *

**Author's Confessions**

The chapter title refers to one of A/A's infamous scenes in the movie. I initially wrote this chapter before I had gotten the movie script and the dvd. I had thought for sure Ariadne had said, "I tried hard not to come..." It turns out she didn't. It was just my 12-year old mentality remembering the scene that way.


	3. No One Quite Like Her

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter3 rating: PG-13

* * *

**Chapter 3: No One Quite Like Her**

Ariadne walks up to Arthur, stopping a few feet away. She has a book bag slung across her body and an artist's portfolio in one hand. She must have come from the university.

"Cobb said you'd be back."

She looks a bit sheepish for a moment, but then her face takes on a faraway look as she says, "I tried hard not to come, but…"

"But there's nothing quite like it." He smiles, understanding the lure.

She smiles back and elaborates, "It's just…pure creation."

They stand staring at each other for a moment. He notices that she's pretty direct. That was another thing to admire about her. She doesn't shy away from scrutiny, her own or that of others. And that's good for the team, he reminds himself. Just because it coincides with his personal preferences is not important.

He searches for something to say to break the silence. Curious about her portfolio he nods his head towards it.

"Are those your designs?"

Looking down at the portfolio in her hand, she nods her head.

Arthur realizes he's curious. Cobb was impressed with what she did in the dream but he didn't elaborate and Arthur didn't prod him. Now, he really wants to see for himself what she can do.

"Would you mind showing me some of your designs?"

She is considering her answer. "Are you really interested? If I say no, am I out of a job?"

"Well, if you say no I'll have to wonder about your capabilities," he chuckles. "I thought you artistic types were all exhibitionists to some extent. Your hesitation makes me think that maybe you're not as good as advertised." He gives her a smirk with his taunt.

She rises to the challenge. "I am good," she replies confidently. "I'm finishing up my Masters of Architecture degree with Stephen Miles, a world-renown professor of architectural design. _And_, I've already had a job offer." She smiles back and walks over to one of the empty tables. Removing her book bag, she opens the portfolio, pulling out some of her sketches. He walks over to take a look.

Arthur discovers she isn't boasting. She pulls out several designs for different kinds of buildings and their interiors. He studies them one at a time aware that she is staring at him, no doubt gauging his reactions. There's a futuristic looking house, a palatial library design, a towering skyscraper, and a shop reconstituted from an old boat. Each building is unique in its function yet her style of clean lines and liberal use of glass to allow natural light is apparent in all four designs. Arthur is a bit surprised to find that their tastes run the same.

"What do you think?"

"I'm convinced you are as talented as advertised. And you have good taste—it's similar to mine." He grins.

"Thank you. And I'm flattered, I'm sure." Ariadne grins back.

She begins to put the designs back in her portfolio when he spots a sketchpad inside. "What's in the sketchpad?"

She stops putting her drawings away but doesn't pull out the sketchpad. "Oh, I'm working on my final project, the one that is supposed to define my design aesthetic as an architect to Stephen, uh, Professor Miles. I have some rough sketches and ideas in there, but nothing is complete." She doesn't sound as confident in those designs as she is with the others. He calls her out on that.

"You don't sound too sure of yourself. Shouldn't your final project be your pride and joy, the culmination of all those years of hard work and study?"

"Yes, you're right. I…it's just that...I'm having some doubts about the feasibility of what I want to create. I haven't been able to resolve that doubt, I guess. Stephen has always encouraged me to push the boundaries of my creativity, but something keeps holding me in check. Because of that I've fallen a little behind schedule and he is not pleased."

Arthur can see that she's not used to being unsure of her abilities. "So what's holding you back?"

Ariadne is reluctant to explain, but then she looks at him, as if weighing something in her mind. After a moment she shrugs her shoulders and explains, "I guess, it's the fear of failure. Of creating something and having it not meet my expectations." Quietly, she adds, "Or anyone else's."

Ariadne is avoiding Arthur's eyes now and he can tell that she's really conflicted about this, which is odd given her confidence and talent. He surmises that anyone, no matter how good she is at something can have the occasional doubts about herself. Arthur experiences it himself from time to time, especially after a job that doesn't go as planned.

Inspired by a sudden thought he comes up with an idea to help her get past her reservations.

"I guess I'd have doubts too, especially when it comes to something like creating a building. You can't really know how something like that will turn out in the real world. I mean, it's not like you could make a life-sized replica to test out in the real world. You know, so you can work out the kinks, see how people would respond to it in real life. That isn't practical." He pauses to give her a mischievous little grin. "But we do have the capabilities to do the next best thing."

Having restarted the task of putting her drawings away, Ariadne stops again and stares at him, confused at first. But then her eyes widen and brighten, realization and then excitement making her face glow. "Are you suggesting that I build my design in a dream? So I can see what it will look like before it's actually built?"

"Anything is possible in a dream." Arthur walks back to his PASIV device. She is understandably excited at the prospect of creating her design. He's not so certain why he's excited for her and he chooses not to scrutinize the reason. "Come on, you can build it right now and show me. I can give you my unbiased opinion."

Not having to be convinced any further Ariadne hurries over and takes a seat on the lawn chair she sat in the other day, her earlier anxieties erased from her face. She hastily removes her jacket, making Arthur suppress a smile. He isn't so successful and she is unable to suppress a flush when he walks over with the IV.

"I'll get you started and then I'll join you shortly."

Just like the other day he gently places the IV in her wrist and she begins to drift off to sleep. After he sets the timers he grabs his own IV and sits in the lawn chair next to hers. Her peaceful sleeping form is the last thing he sees before he injects himself and joins her in the dream.

* * *

Once again, Cobb is right. She is remarkable.

At first, Arthur doesn't realize where he is or the purpose of the building, but he doesn't mind. Something tells him he will enjoy discovering where he is. Ariadne herself is nowhere to be seen.

He is surrounded by his projections who are seated or milling about in a room that contains unique chairs, sofas, and tables made of wood. These are scattered about on simple rugs in warm colors, placed on top of hardwood floors. The furniture has a simple but pleasing geometric pattern carved out of them. Looking above at the glass ceiling and around him at the windows he sees the same simple geometric design in their stained glass panels. They allow weak rays of light to filter through. The sun is either rising or setting, he's not sure which since he doesn't know which direction is east or west. Walking up to a set of windows he sees the tops of trees and the lower level balconies of the building that allow astounding views of a forested area.

Deciding to head toward the ground floor he sees an archway that leads to another room. He walks over and through it only to encounter a room full of paintings and sculptures adorning one side of the room while a bank of windows line another. He examines some of the artwork and realizes they're pieces he's seen before—in the Louvre. This must be a museum.

Walking out of this room he passes through another archway that leads to a beautiful stone staircase. Walking down it he continues to walk through the building, passing through room after room, past priceless works of art which his projections continue to admire. Each room is similar, but also impressive and unique in its layout. The walls in the rooms are made of wood and perfectly set natural stones. All rooms have large panels of stained glass decorated with different simple geometric designs, framed by wooden panels. These windows offer a view of the natural beauty outside. Looking out from one of the rooms he determines that the sun is rising as more light than earlier is filtering through the trees and then through the patterns in the glass.

Arthur looks at his watch and realizes that more than an hour has passed. He has been stopping in each room, sometimes taking the time to admire the art pieces, sometimes the general room itself, and other times the scene outside the windows. Not realizing so much time has passed he hurries to the ground floor to find Ariadne before time runs out. As he gets closer to the lower floors he can hear falling water. It's not very loud; rather, it sounds muted. There's probably a fountain on the ground floor or somewhere outside.

Arriving at a lower level that juts out and wraps around and above the ground floor, Arthur searches across the expanse to the other side and spots Ariadne. He stops in his tracks when he takes in her appearance. Currently, she is wearing a champagne colored silk dress. The top half drapes across her shoulders and upper arms, wrapping around her breasts and torso. Her skirt falls in small, tight pleats to just below her knees. A belt cinches her slim waist. Her dark brown hair is left down in soft curls with a large white flower adorning it, and her make-up is light and accentuates her features and complexion. She looks elegant, like she's stepped out of time and is going to a springtime cocktail party. It's definitely a more sophisticated look and a nice change of pace from her customary red jacket and jeans.

She's standing with her legs crossed, body slightly bent at the waist as she leans on her arms against a balcony railing, her head cradled in one hand, her other arm resting on the ledge. She is staring out at the floor below and doesn't see him.

Arthur doesn't know how long he has been staring but he becomes aware that his throat is dry and he has to swallow a few times to moisten it. Quickly, he walks over to her and when he's close enough she senses his presence and turns towards him, giving him a relieved smile. He can't help but smile back as he closes the distance.

"You've changed. Your clothes are…different."

She gives him a shy smile. "I just built this fantastic," she gestures to the building, the art pieces, the outside surroundings, "well, everything." She laughs and continues, "This is the grand opening of my first building. I didn't want to show up looking like I just threw on the first things I could find out of my closet."

"You look lovely," he says softly. Surprised by his soft, warm tone, he attempts to lighten the mood and distance his thoughts from what her appearance is doing to him. "So let's celebrate in style." From behind his back two flutes of champagne appear. He hands her one and gives a toast.

"To an amazing architect and all the future spectacular creations that are sure to come."

They both smile as they clink glasses and sip their champagne. It's authentic champagne, of course.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up. I've been people watching, or rather projection watching, looking out for you. You're projections seem to be admiring everything."

He shrugs. "There's a lot to admire. I was up on the top floor when I first entered. It took me a while to navigate my way down here."

"Well, what do you think?" She spreads her arms out to indicate everything around her.

He can see that she's anxious to hear what he thinks of her creations. Truthfully, he thinks it's amazing. He has never seen anything like it, not in all his travels. He tells her so.

"This is incredible." He debates whether or not to add 'You're incredible' but decides against it. He doesn't want to get into dangerous territory.

Instead, he adds, "The window panels, the furniture, the rooms, the materials you used—everything flows together nicely. The backdrop you have set is perfect too. Even though I was inside this building I felt very close to the nature outside as well."

She beams under his praise. "I'm so glad you think so because that was part of my plan." Her excitement is palpable as she continues to gesture around her. "I've always wanted to create a building that could be considered a piece of art, that could itself house works of art, all while blending into a natural setting. I know that all sounds kind of pretentious, which is part of the reason for my hesitation with this idea. But it's been in the back of my mind for some time, I just haven't had the guts to put it to paper." She pauses to contemplate something. "Strange, isn't it? I think I've just been too afraid that what I put on paper can never match my dreams. But now," she looks directly at him, "I know this is completely possible. Thanks to you. And I'm relieved to hear someone else admire this place as much as I do." If at all possible her smile becomes brighter.

Arthur fidgets a bit, becoming uncomfortable under her admiration—and her smile, which is beginning to affect him more than he likes. "Well, I'm glad I could help." Deciding to try to steer clear from any more of her appreciation he asks, "I am confused about one thing. I can hear water, but I don't see a fountain. Where is it coming from?"

Again, her smile gets brighter. "That's the best part. Come with me."

Ariadne leads him outside of the building and through a stone path that wanders through the trees. He can hear the water more clearly now but still can't find its source. They seem to be rounding the building, walking in silence for several minutes, Arthur following her lead and taking in the beauty of the woods. Finally, the stone path emerges from the trees and ends at a short bridge. The bridge it turns out, affords him an excellent view of her museum as well as, almost impossibly, a waterfall that emerges from underneath the building.

"Wow."

She's laughs. She has been watching his face ever since they reached the bridge. He wants to give her a more eloquent response but the beauty and splendor of what he is seeing renders him inarticulate.

"I can honestly say that there's nothing quite like this." He gestures to the building, the waterfall, and the rest of their surroundings. "This is beautiful. It's like the building is just naturally supposed to be here."

"My design aesthetic has always been to incorporate design within nature so that there is a harmonious transition between the two; a symbiotic relationship between man, his building, and nature."

"I'd say you've done just that, and extremely well, too."

"Well, it's easy when you not only create the building but the nature that surrounds it."

"Still, this is quite impressive. If you didn't already have the job, I'd say this earns it for you. I don't think your professor will disapprove of this."

"Professor Miles hasn't seen this design yet. No one has, actually. Well, except for you."

Ariadne's quiet confession momentarily stuns him. He looks over at her and her eyes are shining and she's still smiling, but not as brightly. Her smile is a gentle one—something private. She's looking at him like she's waiting for him to confess something too. Then he realizes that this whole dream, her creations, the entire experience of the dream and everything that has been said, they're all very important to her and she's been sharing it all with him. She's allowed him in to this little world, this piece of her. It's highly unlikely that anyone else, even her mentor, will get to share a moment like this with her. Ariadne's letting him get close and he inadvertently let himself get pulled in. This realization makes Arthur uncomfortable because he's usually more careful than this. It's flattering and even a bit exhilarating, yes, but it's dangerous territory and it's not what he needs—or wants.

He looks back at the museum, the waterfall, the beauty surrounding all of it, everything except her, wishing he hadn't let her do this. They are going to be teammates, coworkers—nothing more. He's grappling for something to tell her to extinguish whatever this thing is she's trying to create between them. Just when he thinks he has it Arthur is saved from any embarrassment when he finds that she has disappeared. The dream is over.

His last thought before waking is that his instincts about Ariadne are right. He's discovered how she can be a liability, like he originally thought—it's just not necessarily to the team.

* * *

**Author's Confessions**

**Extra Disclaimer:** The museum described in this fic is based on Frank Lloyd Wright's Falling Water (I don't have enough creativity to imagine something so awesome). Sorry to the Wright family for claiming it as an original for my character.

Falling Water is the name of a house FLW designed. I recommend Googling it. It is amazing.

I just figured out how to put these line breaks in here. And also how to reply to reviews. I am AWESOME! :D If you reviewed any of my chapters before, thank you. I typically respond to reviews over at LJ, and will start here too (I like to hear myself type)

This chapter is an altered version of the scene wherein Arthur introduces Ariadne to paradoxical architecture. I thought Arthur was a little too hasty in jumping into training. I wanted them to have a little fun first.


	4. Just Training

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter4 rating: PG-13

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**Chapter 4: Just Training**

Ariadne is back in the warehouse the day after her shared dream with Arthur. They're alone again sharing another dream, this time training on paradoxical architecture. She has just woken up and turns to glance at Arthur's still sleeping figure. He still has several seconds left on the clock. During this time she contemplates what has happened within the last twenty-four hours. A frown forms on her face.

Ariadne can't figure out Arthur's change in his attitude toward her. She thought during her museum dream they were beginning to get a little closer and develop a bond—a friendship. Her dream was such a personal thing for her and initially she felt vulnerable to let a complete stranger in to judge her. Arthur was encouraging of her talent and she was ecstatic to hear that he liked her designs and that he understood what she had created. Ariadne honestly thought they had a connection that went beyond that of mere coworkers. Her confidence in that connection allowed her to cast aside her fears and let him get close. It felt natural to let him.

She must have been wrong. Towards the end of the dream she was staring at him waiting for him to say something about being allowed into her world but he avoided her gaze. He was obviously uncomfortable and was trying to find a way out; and that humiliated her. If the dream hadn't ended soon after she might have jumped off the bridge to kill herself and wake up.

And when they were both awake Arthur didn't say anything about what happened. All he said before she left the warehouse was to return the next day because Cobb wanted him to train her, help her develop some skills that would help her build the kind of dreamscapes she would need for the job. Ariadne didn't miss his emphasis that it was Cobb's wish that Arthur train her specifically and that he had no choice in the matter.

Initially, she was excited to hear that she would be spending more time with him and that they would be sharing dreams on a regular basis. That enthusiasm was short lived when his demeanor suddenly changed and he became the aloof professional around her.

When she arrived this morning he made it clear that they would be strictly training, nothing else. No more creating fantastic buildings that haven't yet existed unless they were related to the job. He even prevented any banter that she tried to engage him in by repeating that they had serious work to do and that they needed to focus on the training, especially since she had a lot to learn. He stressed that they needed to be prepared and their professionalism was important for the success of the mission.

During the dream, he behaved as he advised—professional. She asked a lot of questions and he answered all of them—encouraged them even—at least, those concerning paradoxical architecture, mazes, dream space and the like, but it was all under the dynamic of teacher and student.

Ariadne tried to break him out of the dull lecturing mode he had gotten into by asking him about his specific role. He took a moment before answering her at which point she wasn't sure if he would. But when he did his answer was both detailed and enthusiastic. It didn't surprise her to learn that he took care of details, both inside and outside the dream. Arthur made sure the plans that were developed, whatever they may be, ran smoothly. In the dream, that usually involved taking care of hostile projections. Without a man to tie up a dreamer's defenses there often isn't enough time to steal a secret or to escape without being discovered. Performing extraction wasn't exactly as easy as it sounded, at least not in the way Cobb initially described to her. She was further awed—and a bit turned on, honestly—at the weapons and combat training knowledge he had. The man knew how to handle a gun and defend himself. And his job didn't end after the dream. Outside of it he gathered information, tied up loose ends, made sure they weren't traced. It was obvious from his body language and the animation on his face that he enjoyed what he did, but also that he took it seriously. She told him she was sure he had to be good—he was just so confident. She was rewarded by a faint smile—not directed at her—but a smile nevertheless.

That encouraged her to risk asking him about Cobb. He confessed that they had been working together for several years now. She was surprised to learn he had worked with Mal as well. But perhaps the most surprising thing she learned was that Mal was Cobb's _deceased_ wife, not ex-wife. She couldn't resist asking about her after learning that, although she thought he wouldn't answer. But then both his expression and voice softened when he said Mal was lovely. That stuck with her because he had said the same thing to her during her museum dream. Granted, he was probably only referring to her appearance. Still, she wondered about that comment. Was there more behind it—for both her and Mal. But she wouldn't get to satisfy that curiosity because soon after he discouraged her in asking him anything further regarding Mal—his professional mask was back in place.

And now, here she is, lying beside him and trying to figure out what happened between them that caused him to distance himself from her. Is he really just keeping up his professionalism? Did she do or say something that offended him? She honestly doesn't know. All she does know is that she is thoroughly confused; and feeling a bit bruised. Her ego is bruised, and at the moment, so is her wrist. She can attribute both discomforts to Arthur, who had finally awoken from the training simulation and was busy putting his tubing away, not sparing a glance her way.

The past few times after she had woken from dreaming he would come over and gently remove the IV from her arm, even though she knew she could have done it herself. But she didn't tell him that because it gave her an excuse for him to touch her, and she loved being touched by him, loved what it did to her—embarrassing as it was, she didn't care.

He was also the one to inject the needle into her arm, always being just as gentle. She isn't fond of needles but can probably inject herself if needed. But today, when Arthur inserted the IV and she tensed at his touch as she always did, he stuck her with less care than he usually observed. Ariadne was sure he didn't do it on purpose. He didn't notice her discomfort as he avoided looking at her face so she held back a gasp not wanting to appear weak in front of him. She is paying for his carelessness now.

Since he doesn't walk over to her to remove the IV she does it herself examining the bruise forming on her wrist. It hurts as well. She cautiously touches it to test her pain tolerance. Arthur notices that she hasn't handed over her IV and walks over to her. Ariadne tries to hide her discomfort but he notices anyway.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He frowns, not believing her so she tries to come up with an excuse. "I just don't think I'll ever get used to these needles." She gives him a small smile to make light of her comment.

He is staring at her still holding her wrist. Since she isn't getting up to give him the IV he kneels down to get it himself. She tries to pull on her jacket quick enough to hide her arm, but he still catches sight of it.

"What's that on your wrist?"

She's nonchalant when she answers. "It's nothing."

Before she can finish putting on her jacket he grabs her arm, not roughly, but firmly enough that it would have been a struggle to remove it from his grip. He pushes back her sleeve and sees an ugly purple bruise starting to form.

"I bruised you." His voice is quiet and he doesn't look her in the eyes.

When he starts to frown she makes up an excuse to ease it from his face. "It's from all the injecting. I bruise pretty easily so having a needle stuck into my arm multiple times doesn't help." He doesn't believe her. "I'm sure it will go away soon."

Holding her wrist with one hand he applies just a little pressure with his thumb over the bruise, watching her reaction. She involuntarily winces.

Sighing, he says, "I'm sorry Ariadne, I didn't mean to hurt you."

If he hadn't apologized she would have known how sorry he was just by the remorse in his eyes. He begins gently running his thumb over her wrist. She can feel her heart race, her breathing become shallow—all the physical symptoms she always feels when he is near or touching her. Her physical response to him is embarrassing, considering he is never affected by her. And really, she shouldn't let him rub her wrist because she can't count on controlling her response when he is doing things like that.

He is still staring at her and she realizes she hasn't acknowledged his apology. She opens her mouth to assure him the apology isn't necessary but she shuts it quickly to stall. What if he stops massaging her wrist? She doesn't want him to stop touching her. It's a foolish thought because he has made it clear that theirs is strictly a working relationship. Still, she doesn't want to break the contact. This is the first time since her dream yesterday that they are having a conversation about anything other than that relating to the job and she doesn't want him to distance himself from her as he has been doing, even if they are only talking about her bruise. She wants to try to bring back some of that rapport and closeness she thought they had been developing. Starting with a touch seems like a good place to begin.

"Are you okay? Am I hurting you?" He abruptly stops thumbing over her wrist.

"Arthur." Before she can embarrassingly plead, 'Don't stop,' the warehouse front door closes. Neither had heard it open.

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**Author's Confessions:**

I've uploaded two new chapters, this one and chapter 5. These two chapters used to be one long chapter until I broke them up to give the reader a break. I personally like them as one, which is why the other one is up.

Or you can read it later. Take break. Grab some coffee or a snack. Whatever. I won't know :)


	5. Impressive Mr Eames

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter5 rating: PG-13 to R (for f-bombs courtesy of Eames)

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**Chapter 5: Impressive Mr. Eames**

Arthur is kneeling beside her, holding her wrist while she is still sitting in the lawn chair. When the door closes he drops her hand as if it is poisoned and abruptly rises, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Ariadne gets up as well and finishes putting on her jacket. Their actions do not escape the three men who walk over. One of them is Cobb and the other two are men she has never seen before.

Stopping in front of Arthur, Cobb gives him a scrutinizing look.

"Arthur, have you started Ariadne's training?"

"Yeah, I just finished showing her some paradoxical design." Arthur stares straight at Cobb, unflinching under Cobb's scrutiny.

"Good." Cobb slowly nods and turns his scrutiny to Ariadne. "It's good to see you on board. I hope you learned a lot today."

She tries her best to not look away before answering. She's hoping everyone will ignore the fact that Arthur had been holding her arm which noticeably had not been connected to the PASIV. "Yeah, I did. I didn't realize that there was so much you can do and manipulate in dreams and that they can be so complex. Anything is possible, it seems. Arthur's been a great teacher and he's been very patient with me. It's no wonder you two have worked together for so long." She's being honest but she can feel the heat in her cheeks at the praise she gives Arthur. The three pairs of male eyes watching her also don't help.

Cobb looks at Arthur, who gives away nothing. He turns back to Ariadne, smiling, "Yeah, Arthur is the best. I can always depend on him." Cobb clasps a hand onto one of Arthur's shoulders. The point man is looking slightly uncomfortable. "And you're right, anything is possible, we should all remember that." He gives Arthur a knowing smirk before turning his attention to the two other men he has brought with him.

"Guys, this is Arthur, he's going to be running point. And Ariadne, she's our architect." Cobb points out one of the men. "This is Yusuf. He's a chemist." Yusuf nods while smiling his pleasantries. Ariadne does the same while Arthur, she notices, wears a slight frown with his acknowledgement. She isn't sure if he disapproves of the chemist, or of something else.

She examines Yusuf more closely. He seems friendly enough, at least his face and his smile do. He is tall with dark skin, a round face, curly hair, and a beard. He speaks with an accented voice, but Ariadne isn't sure where he comes from exactly. He is dressed in loose linen clothing which suggests to her that he comes from some place warm. He has with him several large cases.

"And this is—."

"Eames." The other man interrupts Cobb's introduction. "I'm already acquainted with Arthur. Ariadne, is it?"

Eames stares straight at Ariadne with a smirk on his full lips. He has an accent as well—British, she is pretty sure. Like Cobb, he has blue eyes. But where Cobb's eyes were serious, Eames' eyes suggest a more lighthearted nature. He is probably around the same age as Cobb and also sports facial hair—whiskers, like he didn't bother with shaving. His hair is a light brown, combed neatly over his head. He's wearing an inexpensive suit, but it doesn't hide his muscular build. It also doesn't detract her from thinking him attractive. Not as attractive as Arthur, but attractive nonetheless.

"Yes. It's nice to meet you."

"So you're our architect." It's more of a question than a statement.

"Yes, I am."

Eames glances at Cobb who gives him a look—an 'I told you so' look. Ariadne is confused by the exchange and is about to say something when she notices Eames giving her another big smirk. Before she knows what he's about he saunters up close, snatches her hand, and gently brings her knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. "I'm exceptionally pleased to meet you, Ariadne." He continues to hold her hand. "I noticed you and Arthur together earlier when I walked in. Was he paying you unwanted attentions or holding you captive and boring you to death with the whole history of shared dreaming?"

Her eyes flash to Arthur. So someone _was_ going to bring up their earlier moment. She is about to explain their actions but Arthur steps in.

"I know _you_ like to use overbearing tactics of persuasionEames, but that's not my style. Like I said earlier, I was training Ariadne on paradoxical architecture, that's all. She needs to learn a few tricks if she's going to create complex enough mazes for the job."

Eames smirks at Arthur's dig. "Just teaching her some tricks, huh? Well, I know lots of them." Continuing to hold Ariadne's hand he leans in close to her ear but speaks loudly enough for everyone to hear, "If you want to learn a few tricks, I'm available, anytime. I guarantee that you'll have more fun learning from me than with Mr. Arthur there." Before letting go of her he steps back and gives her a smirking wink.

Ariadne can't stop the sudden loud laugh that bursts through her lips. She covers her mouth quickly but her eyes still shine with merriment. Everyone else stands still, all eyes on her in surprise.

"You are ridiculous." She says each word slowly, but with a smile that is on the verge of becoming a laugh.

"You're right Cobb, she is quick—real smart. Ariadne, you've passed my test, bravo. I think we'll get along just fine." Eames acknowledges that he is just teasing by giving her a sincere smile this time. "And I don't think I'll have to worry about you falling madly in love with me, thereby distracting yourself from your work."

"Fall in love with you?" Ariadne scoffs and raises an eyebrow.

Cobb intervenes. "Knock it off Eames. We're all here to work and there's a lot of it to do if we're going to pull this off. And Arthur will continue to train Ariadne. You're going to be busy applying your _tricks_ to get close to the mark. Besides, I hardly think Ariadne is foolish enough to fall for your tired charms." He doesn't say this with malice, but as a friendly dig. Eames feigns insult. Cobb just shakes his head and signals to Yusuf to accompany him to one of the offices. The chemist leaves with an amused expression on his face, picking up his cases and following Cobb.

Once they've disappeared Ariadne addresses Eames.

"Uh, what is going on? What's this about passing your test? And why would I be falling in love with you?"

With devilment in his eyes, Eames explains.

"When Cobb told me he found a sharp, _female_ architect for this job I didn't believe him. He assured me he did but I told him I'd reserve judgment until I met you. And don't look so offended. There aren't a lot of women in this business, is all. I tried to point out the dangers of including a woman on the team as most women I work with generally fall in love with me. Tried to convince Cobb you might work against our goal if you were like most women. You haven't given in to my charms so you've passed—so far. But the job's not over yet." He gives her a saucy smile.

Ariadne finds herself chuckling. She doesn't mind Eames' flirtatious, if not over-the-top, banter. Normally she might have, but it's somehow refreshing, if not ridiculous. It must be all the staid lectures Arthur has been giving her making her think this way.

Thinking of Arthur, she glances over to him; he has been quiet for a while. He still has the remnants of a frown on his handsome face. With Eames to compare to, she finds herself wishing Arthur would loosen up a bit.

Turning back to Eames she notices him follow her gaze toward Arthur before returning his own to her. Eames gives her another smile and playful wink before he brushes past Arthur to lounge on her vacated chair. She's not sure she's comfortable with his gestures this time.

"Arthur, how've you been mate? Haven't seen you since the Valez job." Speaking to Ariadne directly, he comments, "That job was a rousing success, by the way. All thanks to me, of course."

Arthur's response is a terse, "I'm fine." He doesn't comment about the job.

Curious about Eames, Ariadne asks, "So what's your role in all this? You never said. You were too busy trying to convince me that you knew some tricks that obviously don't include picking up women."

Eames laughs. "Damn it, I like you. We're going to like working with each other, I can tell. And you'll be a nice change of pace from Mr. Stick-up-my-arse over there."

She smiles along with Eames, but it falls a bit at the not so polite jab at Arthur. She chances a glance his way again but his face is inscrutable. Arthur probably doesn't care, but she doesn't like hearing him be insulted so openly. She finds she can't distance her feelings about him no matter how hard he tries to distance himself from her.

Ariadne really does like Eames, though. He is probably right, they will enjoy working with each other. He doesn't take himself too seriously. He likes to tease, but she is sure he isn't all fun and games. She doesn't think Cobb would have brought him on board if he wasn't good with whatever it is he does, which Eames still hasn't told her.

"Okay, enlighten me. How exactly was the success of the Valez job all thanks to you?"

"Well, my dear, you see, I am a forger. I forge things and—."

"He's a petty thief, too," Arthur interrupted.

"Yes, that too—if you call women's hearts a petty thing."

Ariadne rolls her eyes; he is too much.

"But, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," he glares at Arthur, "I can forge items, signatures, documents, small things like that, but more importantly, or, most impressively I can forge people."

"You mean impersonate people?"

"No, I _forge_ people."

At her questioning look he explains, his tone becoming serious. He is now in his element.

"Impersonating someone doesn't capture everything I do. Theoretically, given ample opportunity I can imitate the voice, the behaviors, the nuances that make you, well, you. That would be an impersonation. But no one would ever believe I really was you because I don't look like you, could never change my physical appearance to embody you—at least believably, anyway. A forger makes you believe you are interacting with the actual person you are forging, be it a man, woman, young, or old. As that person I can elicit an emotional response that may be hidden in one's subconscious. The person I forge is often a symbol or representation of something a dreamer has tucked away in his mind. It's a subtle art, really."

"You're talking about dreams? In dreams, you forge a person to make the dreamer believe he is interacting with the real person who you can use to get to the heart of the dreamer's subconscious and thus his secrets?"

Eames gives her an approving nod. "That's exactly right."

"Wow, that's pretty impressive. You must be a quick study of character, then."

"I'm a natural. I'd have to be to be any good. And I'm pretty damn good at what I do. I can tell a lot about someone within a few minutes of meeting him or her. Give me enough time and you won't be able to tell my forgery for the real thing."

"Really? What are you able to deduce about me?" It's a bold request and she's not even sure why she wants to know. Actually, she knows the reason why—he's standing a few feet away, hands still in his pockets, face still unreadable. She needs to know if there is something about her that can make Arthur close himself off to her.

"You really want to know what I see?" At her nod, he grins. "Well, this should be good." He rubs his hands together in anticipation. "Okay, well, to start you're sharp as a tack; Cobb mentioned that and you've confirmed this with your understanding of forging in the dream space. And I can tell you're naturally curious. Creative probably, you're an architect after all. Direct; you didn't shy away from my 'oh-so-subtle advances' and you're not afraid of what I might tell you right now. You appear both self-confident and insecure. The self-confidence most likely derives from your abilities and talents, but the insecurity, well, that I'm detecting is derived from another source." At this he glances at Arthur.

Ariadne hopes her face isn't as red as she thinks it is.

She is saved from making some kind of protest about her insecurities when Arthur speaks up. "Okay, Eames, you've had your fun. We need to get down to business."

"It's always down to business with you, Arthur. Give a bloke a break. I just arrived and I'm getting to know the new girl. Just because you've had ample opportunity alone with her—"

"We've been training, nothing more." He looks down at his shoes when he says this.

"Right, training." Eames is not convinced. He directs the next question to Ariadne. "Tell me, is he still using those boring office spaces as his training grounds?"

Feeling the need to stand up for Arthur's taste even though by doing so she knows it won't dissuade Eames' assumptions of her insecurities, which—if she is being honest—are closer to truth than assumption, Ariadne replies, "Actually, I liked the office space we used today. Clean lines, open space, lots of windows, modern interior design."

"So you two have the same tastes? Interesting. I've learned a lot about you today, Ariadne."

She's not sure if she likes the sound of that.

Continuing to lounge on the lawn chair, Eames turns his attention to Arthur. "So Arthur, are you still seeing the lovely Anne? Last time we worked together you were buying her some signed, first edition of Chilean poetry or some such rubbish."

This abrupt change of subject catches Ariadne's full attention. Who is Anne? Is she Arthur's girlfriend? Is she smart? Is she here in Paris? Is she as sophisticated and gorgeous as Ariadne is imagining? She wants to ask, but doesn't have enough nerve. Maybe if she can get Eames alone later, she can drill him with questions about her.

"I'm surprised you remember that. Anne loves to read. I suggest you partake in the activity once in a while, you might actually become a decent forger if you were literate."

Ignoring the taunt, Eames replies, "Hmm, then maybe _I_ should see the lovely and literate Anne. She can read me some of that poetry. Teach me a few things about love, unless…she's still teaching you?"

Arthur briefly glances Ariadne's way. She is eager to hear his answer. "Anne and I…we…have an understanding."

Eames laughs, a bit too raucously, she thinks. "You and the beautiful Anne have an 'understanding?'" Eames shakes his head. "What the fuck does that mean? Is that the gentlemanly way of saying you bang her when the opportunity presents itself?"

Arthur gives Eames a stern look and his jaw clenches in distaste at Eames' vulgar description. Eames just stares back, challenging Arthur to dispute his statement. "I don't…bang Anne. We're…friends. We enjoy each other's company."

"So you're good friends who enjoy each other's company, and who have an 'understanding.'" Eames nods his head, appearing to contemplate this. "Gotcha, you're friends with benefits. Or, as I like to delicately put it, fuck buddies."

Apparently Arthur isn't too fond of Eames' crude characterizations of his relationship with Anne. For her part, Ariadne remains quiet, silently urging Eames on so as to shed more light on the truth about this mysterious Anne.

"My relationship with Anne is…deeper than that. We connect on a different level than most...traditional couples. You wouldn't understand." Arthur is choosing his words carefully.

Eames scoffs at this. "You make it sound like you two have attained a higher spiritual plane of enlightenment than us mere mortals. Which all sounds really dull to me, by the way." Eames pauses for a moment to think about something, and then grins. "Unless you're talking about sex. In that case, I find this all really fascinating. Do go on."

"I'm not discussing my," he glances at Ariadne before continuing, "sex life with you. That's none of your damn business."

Eames looks over to Ariadne. "His refusal to talk about his sex life either means he doesn't have much to tell, i.e. it's not worth mentioning because it's pedestrian, _or_ they have fucking mind-blowing sex and he's too much of a gentleman to brag about it with a lady present. Why don't you be a dear Ariadne and leave the room so I can needle it out of him."

"Don't listen to him, Eames doesn't know what the hell he's talking about."

"Don't I? Hmm, perhaps you're right. But can you blame me? From what you've vaguely told us, I'd wager that Anne doesn't even exist. You're probably making her up." Eames chuckles. "Anne is probably just a grandmother you're trying to pass off as someone you 'have an understanding' with."

Arthur turns away, grumbling to himself about another wager Eames would lose. Ariadne also thinks she hears the words, 'bastard forger', but she can't be sure as he returns to putting the PASIV away. Eames stares at his back, still smirking, but remains quiet. Apparently they are dropping the conversation.

Ariadne finds she has some things to think about regarding the point man. They look to be done here anyway so she grabs her belongings by the lawn chair Eames has claimed.

"Okay, well, this has been…interesting. It seems like we're done here for today. Are we going to continue training tomorrow, Arthur?"

"Yes, same time. And plan on staying all day, we've got a lot to cover and Cobb will probably also want to meet with all of us to go over the game plan."

"Okay, sure. I'll be here at nine. See you tomorrow."

Arthur nods without looking at her.

"Hold up there, Ariadne. Seeing as how we'll all be busy tomorrow, how about we grab a few drinks? Get to know each other better." She's disappointed that it's Eames who asks and not Arthur. But then she thinks about it for a moment and gives him a wide grin. Eames gives one of his own.

"Didn't Cobb say we have work to do? Don't you have any?" she teases.

"Yeah, it's in Sydney." At her confused look he explains, "I'll be flying out tomorrow night, staying there for some time, don't know how long yet. I'll be studying the mark's godfather and gleaning information that will be useful for the inception. Saito's making the arrangements. He's our client and you'll meet him tomorrow when he gets to town."

"So you'll be gone after tomorrow?"

Smiling at the disappointment in Ariadne's voice, Eames responds, "That's right. No crying though, I'll be back as soon as I can. For now, if you want me, it will have to be tonight." He smirks at his implications.

Ariadne isn't sure what compels her to do what she's about to. It's probably a combination of wanting to give back a little of what Eames has been dishing, and a defense against her disappointment in Arthur's confessions regarding Anne. Whatever the reason, she's embolden by the courage she finds to walk up to Eames, lean close, and give her most seductive voice—much like he did to her earlier.

"Oh, I want you, Eames." The sudden devil in her makes her run a hand from his defined chest down to his hard stomach, stopping by his navel and leaving her hand there. "But not for drinks. You've got something I want and I…_need_ you to give it to me." She raises an eyebrow. "What do you say? Are you up for it, because I have a feeling it will take _all_ night to satisfy me."

She secretly revels in triumph when Eames' grin falters. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before saying, "Ur, yeah. Eames always aims to please." She laughs at his discomfort and lame retort. He gestures for her to lead the way, following in her wake.

They miss the lingering look Arthur gives their retreating backs.

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**Author's Confessions:**

This is one of my favorite chapters that I've written. I hope you enjoyed it too.

It's also an important chapter...I hope you paid close attention. :)


	6. Failure Is An Option

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter6 rating: PG-13

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**Chapter 6: Failure Is An Option**

A good point man doesn't panic in the face of danger. He thinks on his feet, weighs his options, is resourceful, and re-strategizes when necessary. These instincts are applicable to both dreams and the real world.

When Arthur first realized the danger before him he panicked for the first time in a long time. He hadn't felt this kind of fear since he first started working in extraction. It disturbed his sense of competency, made him feel weak. It also didn't help that his current predicament was nothing like dealing with militarized projections in a dream or trying to figure out a way to have guys lose his tail in reality. This danger was more perilous than both those things combined and multiplied over. The fact that his dilemma came in the form of an attractive architect bursting with curiosity and an always ready smile only humbled him more.

But like a good point man Arthur planned his objective: try to distance himself from Ariadne lest either one of them became tempted with something more than an acquaintanceship. His first strategy: keep their relationship strictly professional. That plan was sound; he just underestimated his opposition.

During the paradox training simulation Arthur thought he sufficiently detached himself from anything other than the task at hand, even took on the tone of a boring lecturer to dissuade Ariadne from building any kind of camaraderie between them. Instead, he only succeeded in boring himself and turning his purpose into a self-defeating one because all her inquisitiveness and avid curiosity were a welcome departure from this dull persona he chose to erect.

He let Ariadne get him caught up in her enthusiasm. It was just so refreshing to teach such an eager and open mind like hers. And when she questioned his role he couldn't stop his own enthusiasm. He loved the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline rush of fending off his dream enemies, that satisfying sense of accomplishment when a well hidden secret was exposed—those were the things he lived for. It was such a relief to actually be able to tell someone what he really did and how much he loved it. He never gets the opportunity of sharing that part of himself. Being able to do so with Ariadne was liberating.

But his momentary lapse in defense wasn't without unwanted consequence. Letting his professional guard down allowed her to ask more personal questions and before he knew it he was confessing how lovely Mal was. And he never discussed his admiration for Mal. It was a private thing, one he didn't want to share with anyone.

So he drew up his defenses again, by avoiding eye contact with her and limiting dialogue to absolute necessity. His success wasn't long before he found out he had bruised her wrist. Knowing that he physically caused her pain tore down those defenses he had just drawn up. They were difficult enough for him to muster against her and yet she took them down without effort. Before he knew it he was lightly rubbing her wrist and enjoying her racing pulse, the one she didn't think he noticed whenever he held her arm.

That plan obviously wasn't going to work.

His next attempt was born through poor timing and desperation. It wasn't a reflection of his usual meticulous planning, but Cobb and the others walked in on him holding Ariadne and he worried about how it looked and what they thought, even though he shouldn't have cared. Sure enough Cobb walked right up to him and gave him a look, one that Arthur had seen one other time before. He didn't admit it at the time, but Cobb's scrutiny frightened him. From previous experience Arthur knew what the look implied, but this time he wasn't ready to deny—or admit—anything. So he re-strategized, incorporating a few tenets from his point man guidebook: think on your feet and be resourceful. He grabbed the first lifeline that presented itself. Of all people, Eames was the one to hand it to him: Anne. He completely forgot about her. Well, not completely, Anne was always in the back of his mind, but he had forgotten that he could use her to his advantage.

Anne was convenient because he already had a history with her that was corroborated by Eames. Arthur thought that bringing up his relationship with her would create a nice buffer between him and Ariadne. She would believe he wasn't available thus tempering her interactions with him and he wouldn't have to constantly fight his growing temptation for her. It seemed the perfect plan, even though he hadn't thought it through or considered all the variables or possible scenarios that could arise from such an admission.

And it worked. During training the following day Ariadne stuck to questions relating only to dream architecture. She didn't stray into friendly conversation or repartee; she didn't direct any teasing smiles or quick blushing glances his way. She was strictly professional. Even inserted her own IV, though he could tell she was less than enthused during the process. She probably bruised her other wrist with her attempts.

He should have been happy that his ruse seemed to work—except he wasn't. Ariadne didn't seem like herself.  
At least, not the Ariadne he knew, which admittedly wasn't very well. She seemed stilted during their training together. He didn't want her to be uncomfortable around him; he just wanted her to stop having such an effect on him. Was it too much to ask for her to stop doing whatever she did that made him want to know her better or made him want to see her smile and hear her laugh?

To top it off, she became bosom buddies with Eames. While she became cool and detached with Arthur she was now old friends with Eames. They joked and laughed together all through the team meeting. Arthur had to stop himself from reminding them they were working and what they were planning was serious business. And how the hell did they become so chummy after just one meeting and an evening together…doing whatever it was they did. Eames mentioned drinks but Arthur couldn't be sure that was all that happened. Ariadne put on that whole production of telling Eames he had something that she needed—in a goddamn, sexy-as-hell voice, too. It almost made Arthur chase after her to remind her that she had a thing for _him_.

Now, she appeared to be no longer affected by him. He should have been relieved but instead he only felt irrational jealousy. What did it matter what Ariadne and Eames did together or how close they became? They were adults. He didn't want Ariadne's attentions anyway.

Still, it stung his pride a bit to see the easy relationship she had with Eames, the kind he wanted with her that didn't involve physical or emotional attachment. He was still dancing circles around her and trying to come up with elaborate schemes just to be able to talk to her without embarrassing himself.

There was nothing Arthur could do but immerse himself in the daily routine of work and team meetings. And Arthur was glad for the routine. It was something he was familiar with and could handle. Gathering information and research—they were just part of the point man's job. Taking notes and figuring out the feasibility of Cobb and Eames' ideas were a welcomed challenge. He was the one that took care of the details and logistics that sometimes escaped Cobb's attention when he got too caught up in the bigger picture of extraction, and in this case, inception.

He also ran background checks on everybody, without their knowledge of course. He and Cobb had been burned before in the past and it was always wise to be careful. His queries on Eames and Yusuf were what he expected. He had never worked with Yusuf but his history was pretty clean, mostly because he rarely entered the field. And he had worked with Eames a few times in the past and nothing new showed up. Eames was a wily one, but not all of Arthur's connections were reputable. Eames was still pissing away his earnings at the gaming tables and he'd occasionally get caught for forgery; Arthur wasn't kidding when he told Eames to do more reading, his spelling was still atrocious. It was a good thing he was so damn good at forging during dreams, otherwise Arthur may have nixed the idea of bringing him on board.

And then there was Ariadne. Truthfully, he didn't have any reason to distrust her and she was too green to have any kind of record or history that would jeopardize their mission. But since she was no longer sharing details about herself with him, he couldn't help but become more curious about her, especially the longer they worked together.

He also couldn't stand the fact that Eames seemed to be her confidante and knew more about her than he did, but he didn't like analyzing the reasons for that.

Arthur was able to find out quite a bit of information. First he found out some easy facts that anyone could find from school records, like that she was a talented student who graduated fourth in her high school class. She attended Notre Dame University, graduating summa cum laude, before coming to Paris for graduate school to be mentored by Stephen Miles, Cobb's father in law.

Other details took a little more digging and strategy to find. He discovered she grew up in the small community of Oak Park, Illinois, the only child to a mother who worked as a receptionist for the small construction company Ariadne's father's family owned. Her mother's side of the family had an odd penchant for naming their daughters after characters in Greek mythology. It made him wonder if she would continue the tradition.

Then there was the more difficult challenge of finding out about her current life in Paris. Perhaps breaking into her apartment went above and beyond what he needed to do to investigate her, but he couldn't resist. A person's living space said a lot about them. He didn't need Eames' talent to figure that out.

It turned out that Ariadne lived in a tiny one bedroom apartment. The space looked lived-in but it was clean, if a little untidy. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink, a scarf dangling from a table chair, and her coffee table was cluttered with papers and books. Her furniture looked like it may have come with the place—antique French, worn, but functional. She did carve out her own small workspace by one of her windows. An old wooden drafting table and chair faced a window, allowing light to fall upon them and her artist accoutrements. She had bookshelves half-filled with books—many of them on architecture—and half-filled with pictures of family and friends and souvenirs from her travels like a bowl full of unique rocks collected from different places as well as local artist made crafts. Her walls were decorated with design prints—some her own, others from well-known architects; there were more personal pictures as well—some of her standing next to different famous buildings, some of just the buildings themselves.

Besides the cozy living room, a tiny kitchen and bathroom, the only other room was her bedroom. Originally, he wasn't going to go into her room, but he reasoned that he had made all the effort to break in so he might as well take the whole tour. The sparse room was covered in a robin's egg blue wallpaper and contained a neatly made bed—which he was oddly pleased with—a night stand, a large wardrobe, and a window on one wall.

He justified his searching through her drawers as part of his duty to make sure she didn't have any skeletons in her closet that could be disruptive toward their mission. In his experience someone who had things to hide usually hid them in the closet or wardrobe, or in a drawer. It was unimaginative, but most people weren't expecting to have their homes broken into to search for secrets. As expected, his search came up empty in terms of potential for jeopardizing the team and the job.

That didn't stop him from contemplating what he found in her nightstand drawer.

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Author's Confessions:

I hope Arthur's background checking and breaking and entering didn't sound too creepy. That's my biggest fear regarding this chapter, is that I made Arthur a bit too skeevy(sp?)/stalker/creeper. He just did it because he's curious about Ariadne (I know, that doesn't make it sound any better). :/

Well, if you think that, then hopefully I'll change your mind next week. I'll be posting another chapter then and if you're looking for more A/A interactions, well, the next few chapters will be filled with it. I promise. :)


	7. Every Woman's Dream

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter7 rating: PG-13

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**Chapter 7: Every Woman's Dream**

Arthur is still thinking about what he uncovered in her apartment one early morning on a slow day in the warehouse. He finds himself alone, enjoying the quiet and solitude as no one else has made it in this early in the morning. He's taking a break from his computer research, tilting back in his chair as he likes to do, letting his mind wander to Ariadne's nightstand. A huge grin forms on his face, one that always finds its way there whenever he thinks about his discovery, which is one time too many. He is so absorbed in his musings that he doesn't hear Ariadne approach. When she suddenly appears in front of him he is so startled that the front legs of his chair hit the ground and his legs fly up in the air, much like when Eames tipped his chair during that one meeting.

And as she did then Ariadne doesn't try to hide her amusement.

"Thanks Arthur, but I got the concept of the kick when you and Eames demonstrated it in the meeting."

Feeling sheepish, he says, "Uh, I didn't see you there. I was distracted by…something I was thinking about."

She's still smiling. "Obviously. Must have been a really pleasant something. I swear you were grinning from ear to ear."

As if on cue, his ears start burning. It doesn't escape her notice and she laughs, a free and easy laugh, the kind she shares with Eames and Yusuf—but never with him.

"You know, you really shouldn't tip your chair back like that. One of these days you might accidently fall backwards instead of forwards. And maybe not even accidentally if Eames is around when it happens."

"Yeah, it's a terrible habit. My mother always scolded me about it but I guess I never learned." Surprised that he shared a personal anecdote, he decides to move away from the whole embarrassing incident by asking, "When did you get in? I didn't think anyone else was here."

It's Ariadne's turn to look sheepish. "I've been here all night. I fell asleep at my desk sometime in the middle of the night. I've been trying to perfect the designs and time kind of got away from me."

Now that she mentions it he notices her rumpled appearance. Her clothes are wrinkled and she's in need of running a comb through her hair. She has dark circles under her eyes and her complexion is pale. She looks worn out and vulnerable and that pulls at something inside of him.

Arthur knows that out of everyone on the team she's been working the hardest. After all, she had to start from scratch by learning about dream sharing and its architectural tricks. Then she had to build and design each detailed maze and dreamscape while incorporating information she learned about the mark. She also tailored each design to the part of the subconscious they needed to access which was also tailored to the specific dreamer. Lastly, she taught mazes and the designs all to each of them. And she did this all while continuing to take a few seminars at the university so as to not rouse suspicion to her other activities. It—she was amazing.

"You were here all day yesterday, weren't you?"

She gives a big yawn and nods her head. The movement causes her to sway and she grabs hold of his desk to steady herself. Arthur jumps out of his chair to help her stay on her feet.

"When was the last time you had something to eat?"

"Um, I think I had a left over croissant for lunch yesterday."

She was referring to the croissants she always brought in the mornings from her favorite pâtisserie.

"Come on, we need to get you something to eat and then you need to go home and sleep."

"But the designs, I wanted to ask—."

"Don't worry about the designs. They're perfect. You've been working too hard and not taking care of yourself. Come on, we'll go get you something to eat."

"I'll just go home. I can fix something up there. I don't want to trouble you—."

"Ariadne," he takes her chin in his hand to look her in the eyes. Hers widen in surprise. "It's no trouble. Now, quit resisting and I'll take you home."

She doesn't argue and allows him to lead her out to his car. She's seated in the passenger seat when she realizes she's forgotten her things. Just as she's about to get out of the car, he stops her.

"I'll get them."

Ariadne just nods and sits back in her seat.

"Wait! Arthur, don't forget my jacket."

He smiles. He's never seen her without it.

He returns shortly and gets into the drivers' seat, handing Ariadne her things. She smiles her thanks, puts on the ubiquitous jacket and settles into the seat.

Arthur starts the car and is about to drive away when he remembers that he's not supposed to know where she lives.

"What's your address?"

Her response is a sleepy one. She gives him directions, different than what he would have taken himself. She is asleep the whole fifteen minute drive there.

He parks near the entrance to her building and calls her name. She mumbles a response that sounds like 'five more minutes' and it makes him smile. He opens his car door and walks over to her side, unlocking her door then gently shaking her awake. Ariadne is sleepy and disoriented but manages to remove herself from the car but doesn't notice him leading her up the stairs to her apartment without asking for the number. He searches for her key in her bag and opens the door.

"Ariadne, we're home."

This one short sentence breaks her out of her sleepy stupor.

"Thank you, Arthur. I'd probably still be asleep at my desk, half-starved if it wasn't for you." She looks at him with a sleepy smile that twists something inside of him. "I think I'll just take a quick shower before going to bed. I'm much too tired to be operating a stove or any other kitchen appliance."

"I really think you should eat something first."

"Arthur, really, I'm fine now. Thank you, again. But I think I need a shower and a change of clothes more than food right now. She starts removing her jacket and heads toward her room. "You can show yourself out, right?" She disappears into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Arthur isn't comfortable leaving her alone. She doesn't exactly look steady on her feet, and despite her assurances, he wants to make sure she eats something. So instead of showing himself out he walks into her tiny kitchen and opens her pantry. All he finds are some crackers, a jar of Nutella, and tea. An inspection of her fridge proves almost as bare.

Standing in front of her open fridge he debates what to do when he is struck by sudden inspiration. With quick movements Arthur's shrugging out of his coat, rolling up his shirtsleeves, and tying on an apron that hangs on a peg on the wall. Hearing the shower start to run he puts Ariadne's tea kettle to boil and begins preparations for an omelet. Arthur is by no means a culinary master, but he knows a few simple recipes. Omelets are easy because they can be filled with whatever is on hand.

Twenty minutes later he is flipping over the omelet and turns from the stove to slide it onto a plate. Ariadne is standing in front of her open bedroom door. She has changed into a pair of boxers and an old Notre Dame University shirt. A towel is wrapped around her shoulders to keep her damp hair from soaking through her shirt. Her mouth hangs open at the sight of him.

"Arthur?"

He suddenly feels like an idiot. He knows he looks like one, standing in her tiny kitchen wearing her frilly little apron with a pan in one hand, a plate in the other. What is wrong with him? What possessed him to do this? He should have just left. She can take care of herself.

"I just wanted to make sure you ate something so I checked your pantry but it's almost empty and then I noticed your fridge was pretty much in the same state, but then an idea came to me—I'm not a great cook or anything—omelets are pretty easy to put together, so that's what I made but if you don't want it I can pick you up something else because you really should eat something."

He is babbling. She reduced him to a babbling idiot. So much for the calm and cool point man image. He puts her food down on the counter and unties the apron, hanging it back on the wall then walks over to her sofa to grab his coat. He is about to excuse himself when she grabs his arm.

"Wait!"

He stops in his tracks and watches as she hurries into her bedroom. He hears some rustling and then she's out again, walking over to her coffee table where she places her totem. The low _thunk_ of the chess piece breaks the silence. She looks back at him with a big smile. "This isn't a dream?"

Confused by the question he asks, "Why would it be?"

"Because you were standing in my kitchen, wearing a polka-dotted apron with your plaid tie, cooking for me. That's pretty much every woman's dream."

He chuckles despite his earlier embarrassment. "You dream of guys wearing polka dots and plaid? I hope you have more fashion sense than that."

"Well, usually in my dreams you're—uh, the guy is, uh, wearing…clothes—obviously!—and it's, uh, something…appropriate. Boy, I'm hungry." She ducks her head and quickly walks over to the counter to pick up the plate and a fork, keeping her back to him. "This smells good. What's in here?"

He smiles at her discomfort. He wants to tease her about her slip, but decides to let it go so she can eat. "Goat cheese and tomatoes, that's all you had in your fridge. It was either that or Nutella and crackers. You really need to restock your pantry."

"Hmm, if this tastes as good as it smells, I'll want to see what you can come up with using only the Nutella and crackers."

"You'll be getting Nutella on crackers."

She laughs and walks over to the sofa, curling her legs underneath her, cutting a piece of the omelet and popping it into her mouth. Her eyes widen in surprise. "Mmmm," is her only response before cutting another huge piece and stuffing it into her mouth. He walks back to her kitchen to grab the cup of tea he had steeping, bringing it over and placing it in front of her. He gives her a smirk when he sees her half-empty plate.

"Okay, I was hungrier than I thought," she says before forking in another bite. "Thank you, this is delicious by the way, in case you didn't already know that by the way I'm scarfing it down. Where did you learn how to cook?"

He shrugs before answering. "I know a few simple recipes. And it's not that difficult to follow directions in a cookbook. That's about it."

"Well, you could have fooled me." Finishing off the omelet she gulps down some tea and gets up to put her dishes in the sink.

Arthur gets up to leave. "I should let you get some sleep."

"Are you leaving already?" He can hear the disappointment in her voice.

"You were practically asleep a few minutes ago."

"I'm not that tired now. I think the shower and the food helped. Besides, I owe you for taking care of me today."

"Really Ariadne, it's not necess—."

"Sorry Arthur, I've already made up my mind." She walks up to him and firmly pushes him toward the sofa. "Sit. Relax, this won't hurt." She heads over to her drafting table and picks up a sketchpad and some pencils then takes a seat on the other end of her sofa.

Flipping open her sketchpad she motions to him, "Now, take off your clothes."

"Uh, Ariadne, I—."

She chuckles, "I'm only kidding. I just wanted you to relax. You're sitting there like you really do have a stick up your ass, just like Eames always says you do."

"I'm not sure I'd be any more relaxed if I did take off my clothes."

"But aren't you a bit more relaxed now, knowing that you don't have to?" She raises a questioning brow. "Unless…you want to?"

"I think I'll stay dressed, if you don't mind." Her eyes stray from his face to his clothed form and her teeth bite her bottom lip, almost an unconscious gesture. She lifts her eyes up to his after a few moments then quickly hides behind her sketchpad. He grins, finally leaning back on the sofa, immensely pleased he still has this effect on her.

"So, is sketching a guy naked another dream every woman has or is it just yo—?"

"Arthur, I was just joking!" She doesn't look up from the sketchpad but he sees that her face is still pink.

He laughs. "I'm just teasing. You wanted me to relax, right?"

"Yes, but not at my expense," she mumbles.

Still smiling, Arthur searches for something to keep his mind occupied off of wondering what her other dreams might include and how much nudity they involved.

He eyes her totem. "What's the significance of the bishop?"

She looks up from her drawing. "What?"

He points to her bishop lying on its side on the coffee table. "Why did you pick that chess piece as your totem?"

She shrugs, returning to her sketching. "It's been my favorite chess piece ever since I was a little girl and my dad first taught me to play. I wasn't disciplined enough to play chess properly though. The bishop is considered a minor piece, except if both are still in play, then they dominate by covering the entire chess board. That was my only strategy, to protect the bishops to capture the king. But my dad always tried to outmaneuver me and I'd get upset when he'd tip one over when he captured it. In dreams, I never have to see the bishop tip over. Why did you choose a loaded die?"

He should have known that she would ask about his totem after asking about hers. He's quiet for several moments and Ariadne looks up to search his face. He knows that she's disappointed that he won't share. They had fallen into a comfortable, if slightly awkward, rapport. His silence disrupts that and her demeanor changes back to the cool detachment she developed with him over the last few weeks. She returns to her drawing and says, "Sorry, I didn't mean to get too personal. Just forget it."

They're quiet for a few minutes. Ariadne continues to sketch with a small frown on her face. She never looks up to examine him.

"It reminds me that it's possible to control chance."

She pauses from her drawing to look at him, clearly unsure if she should prod him or wait for elaboration.

Arthur looks past her, out the window behind her back. "My father taught me that we can control almost any outcome through preparation, attention to detail, and ingenuity. If you work hard enough, nothing has to be left to chance or uncertainty. He used a pair of loaded dice as an example of that concept. I use one of his dies as my totem." He clenches his hand in his pocket. "You roll a regular die and you can expect one of six numbers, six different outcomes. The loaded die is engineered to give one outcome I can always rely on. That tells me this world is real."

"Well, now I know why Cobb and Eames say you're one of the best at what you do. You took your dad's lessons to heart. Does he still have the other die?" She gives him an encouraging smile.

"Yeah, he does. It's buried with him." Her smile falters at his admission. He's silent for several moments before he continues. "He was a fireman. He died during what was supposed to be a routine search and rescue. The building he was in…he didn't know that it should have been condemned. The owner was paying off inspectors to have it pass code."

He stops again when Ariadne sets aside her things and slowly moves from her end of the couch to his and reaches for one of his hands. Arthur stares down at their hands but doesn't remove his. Neither one of them says anything. Looking up into her eyes he reads sympathy in them.

"He did help save several families. He just…there was no plan for what to do when the only exit would be blocked after half the building collapsed because of shoddy construction. He died of asphyxiation. "

"Oh, Arthur, I'm so sorry." She places her other hand on top of his.

He stands and starts to withdraw his hand but is stopped by both of hers. He's just recounted a major loss in his life, yet, when he looks into her eyes, it looks like she's afraid of losing something too.

"Arthur, please?"

He sits back down on the sofa, but refuses to look at her until one of her hands brings his gaze to hers. "Arthur, I'm sure your father did everything he could. Sometimes life…life is full of…unknowns and sometimes the unknowns work against you but that doesn't mean that the only outcome is a negative one." When he starts to protest, she quickly cuts him off. "I'm not saying your father's death should have happened, but there are those who were also affected by what happened. That crooked building owner got found out, didn't he? And those families that your father helped saved. He's a hero to them—and to you." He looks directly at her and she continues under his stare. "I'm guessing his…passing helped shape you into the man you've become. Would you be doing what you're doing now if it weren't for him? Would you be the best point man in the business if it weren't for what he taught you? I don't think you carry that die just because you know you'll always roll the same number. I think you carry it because you want to honor your father—that's real to you, and you can always count on that, even when things don't turn out the way you had planned."

He swallows once, not saying anything. Ariadne is quiet as well, her hands still enclosing his. She begins to rub her thumb gently over his knuckles, obviously anxious that she may have offended him. He remains silent.

"Arthur?" His solitary name is a question softly spilling from her lips and he understands what's unasked. She wants to know if she overstepped bounds, if he's angry with her for making him stay and sharing something personal of himself with her. Before today his first instinct would have been to put on his professional mask, walk away and leave—but not this time. She has some kind of control over him and he's helpless to fight it. More troublesome is that he's discovering he doesn't mind.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

Make him drop his guard. Make him want to pull her into him and do more than hold hands. Make him want to tell her everything, things that no one else knows.

The last thought surprises him. There are only a few people in the world who really know him and even fewer who know everything. This urge to disclose everything to her confuses him, but at the same time a fluttering sort of…hope, deep down inside of him starts to take wing—and it makes him smile.

"Make me want to smile."

Ariadne's smile is one of victory when she feels him relax and settle back on the sofa. She picks up her sketchpad and pencils. "You know, maybe it was a good thing that you aren't naked." She tries to hold in her grin at his confusion. "It probably would have made your confession even more difficult than it already was if you were."

Despite himself, he laughs, but quickly reassures her. "It wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. Telling you, that is."

She smiles softly, unmoving from her now closer position to him on the couch. Ariadne continues with her sketching and they sit in comfortable silence for several minutes as he studies her—eyes roaming over the paper, hand moving across it in swift strokes, and tongue darting in and out between her lips as she concentrates. She never looks up from her drawing to examine him.

"When will I get to see that picture?"

"Soon."

"I hope you can draw portraits as well as you can draw buildings. I'm not going to end up looking like a Picasso, am I?"

"I'm not as good with the human form as I am with a building, but you're not going to look discombobulated, don't worry."

"You're not drawing me in an uncompromising position that you'll blackmail me with later?"

She smiles, not answering him, focused on her task.

"I've noticed that you haven't taken a look at me this whole time."

"You know, you're a lot mouthier than Eames was when I drew him. I wouldn't have thought that possible."

"You drew his picture?"

"Yes, he asked me to."

"Did you ask him to take off his clothes as well?"

Ariadne finally raises her eyes to his. They're shinning with merriment. "I didn't have to, he suggested it himself." She returns to her sketching.

He has several more questions racing through his mind that he's dying to ask, but he's afraid of the answers.

"Okay, I'm done." She quickly gets up from the sofa and walks over to her drafting table to place her pencils back. "Come take a look."

He joins her by the window and she hands him her sketchpad. He stares down at his picture and is surprised. It's a pretty good likeness of him, but it's not of him sitting on her sofa. It's a picture of him from earlier that morning, in the warehouse, leaning back in his chair with a huge smile on his face.

Ariadne's searching his face for a reaction. "I hope you like it. That's the most relaxed I've ever seen you. I had to capture that. Maybe it'll remind you of whatever it was you were thinking about and you'll smile like that again." She takes the pad from his hands and tears the page away, handing it to him.

"It's great. Thank you." He accepts the drawing, not telling her that he doesn't need the drawing to remind him of his thoughts during that moment. He just continues to stare at his likeness. Then another thought occurs to him. "You didn't really need me here to draw this, did you? You did this all from memory."

She's silent for a moment, avoiding his eyes. "Well, no, I didn't need you here to draw this picture." She stares at his tie. "I just…wanted you here…are you mad?"

Arthur knows she's not asking about the drawing. She's managed to close the distance between them, the one he engineered. The point man in him would have called this a failed venture because he didn't succeed in his planned objective. But another part of him, the part that reminds him that he's a man with needs and desires—that part can't bring himself to care about failure. In this case, it isn't the only outcome and certainly not an unwelcomed one.

The fluttering inside intensifies to a steady beat.

He takes a step toward her so that there's only a breath of space between them and takes hold of her chin, much like he did earlier this morning, and brings her eyes to his. His voice is low and a bit hoarse as he says, "No Ariadne, I'm not mad." She places her hand over the wrist holding her chin, staring at him with a shy smile.

Releasing her chin and grabbing her hand he pulls her towards her bedroom. "I think it's time for bed."

Her eyes widen. "Arthur, I—."

He grins. "You need your rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh." Her face is pink yet again. "Yeah, I'm definitely delirious. I thought we—you're right, I need some sleep." He laughs and she rushes him towards her front door.

"Arthur?" He pauses before opening the door and turns back toward her.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to have lunch tomorrow? Together, that is. During work. I mean, if you want…that is if you're going to eat lunch tomorrow…then maybe we can eat lunch together."

He smiles at her awkwardness but takes several moments to respond. An idea forms in his head. "How about breakfast instead? I'll come by, say around 6:30 in the morning tomorrow?"

It's obvious that she's surprised by his suggestion, but she gives him a smile and replies, "Um, okay."

He smiles back and walks out the door, heading toward the stairs. Pausing at the landing, he turns around and sees Ariadne standing in her doorway. She smiles and he waves back.

When Arthur reaches his car he catches a glimpse of his face in the window. The face reflected back is enjoying failure way too much.

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**Author's Confessions:**

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm not sure if I'll post the next chapter up next week because I'd like to post another fic instead, one that I'd like to have posted sometime during Valentine's Day week. It's not a Valentine specific fic, but it is going to be fluffy. :)

I've made a reference to an Emily Dickinson poem in this chapter. Cookies for anyone who can guess which one. ;)


	8. Est Ce Un Rencard? Premiere Partie

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter8 rating: PG-13

Author's Greeting: Hi! Happy Valentine's Day! I love you so much, instead of a poem I decided to write some fluff. I hope you like it. There is a poem at the end, but it's not mine. :)

Also, I'm admitting now that I don't know any French, I've never been to Paris or France, and I hope my title translates to: Is this a date? Part 1. Please forgive me or correct me if I'm wrong.

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**Chapter 8: Est Ce Un Rencard?** **Première Partie**

6:30 am? Is he crazy? Usually, on a Saturday morning at 6:30 am Ariadne is still warm and snug under the covers. She is not the type of person who gets up at 5:30 in the morning to shower and stand in front of her wardrobe trying to decide what to wear just for breakfast. No, she's not that type of person…unless the breakfast happens to include an incredibly attractive point man who she can't stop thinking about. Though she doesn't know exactly what breakfast with Arthur entails, or why it has to be so early, there is no way she is going to miss this opportunity to spend time with him, even if it is at the obnoxious hour of 6:30 am.

As she reaches for her customary comfortable pair of jeans she catches sight of her cute little black and white houndstooth print dress. The dress is in a vintage '60s style. It's short, only coming up to mid-thigh, and has a high collar with capped sleeves. It seems a bit much to wear for a casual breakfast with a co-worker. Still, she looks really appealing in the dress and that little bit of gamine in her wants to impress Arthur. Besides, this is Paris and there's no such thing as looking 'over-dressed', even at 6:30 am. And Arthur himself is always so well put together, so sophisticated. So handsome. So sexy. She wants to come off just as alluring to him as he does to her.

Deciding to go for it, she tugs on the dress and also pulls on a pair of black leggings and her black, low-heeled boots. Finishing off her look she pulls out a red, fitted pea coat. She can't do without her favorite color.

Since she's taking a little more care than she usually does with her appearance, Ariadne applies some light make-up and dabs a light floral scent behind her ears. She blow dries her hair and tames the frizz with a conditioning product her curly haired friends swear by. A simple red barrette is clipped to her hair to keep it out of her face.

Staring at herself in front of the mirror she can see the difference in her appearance. A bit more chic. She hopes that Arthur will appreciate the extra effort she put into her appearance this morning. Not that it should matter. It isn't like this is a date or anything. At least, she doesn't think it is, is it? Who goes on a date this early in the morning? But if Arthur doesn't mean for it to be a date then why not just go to lunch during work like she suggested? What is so special about having breakfast at 6:30 in the morning?

Maybe he already had plans for lunch. Maybe he had plans for the whole day and early in the morning is the only time he can fit her in. What if breakfast with him is only going to take ten minutes and before she knows it he's walking her back to her apartment? She'll have gotten all dressed up for nothing.

No, she is being ridiculous. Still, maybe she should tone it down a little. Not be too obvious in trying to impress. She should just stick with what she's comfortable with, even if it is a bit boring. Arthur is familiar with it and he won't think she's trying to impress him with a completely different look.

A brisk knocking on her door snaps her out of her contemplations. 6:30 on the dot. It's too late to change now.

Opening the door she finds a surprised and somewhat casual Arthur. They stand for several seconds admiring each other's ensembles. The first thing she notices is he's not wearing a tie and the top button of his striped buttoned-up shirt is unbuttoned. He's still wearing suit pants, light brown in color but he's not wearing a matching jacket. Instead he's wearing a mid-length dark brown wool coat. His hair is still slicked back and he's holding a couple of canvas tote bags under one arm. Even 'dressed down' he looks every bit as handsome and sexy as ever.

It's not fair.

Staring at her, an appreciative smile forms on his lips as he states the obvious. "You're dressed."

All her anxieties about what to wear fade away under his admiration of her appearance and she finds the nerve to say, "Yes, why wouldn't I be? Were you expecting me to answer the door naked or something?"

"What? No! I-I wasn't. I just thought you might still be in your pajamas—or whatever it is you wear to bed, which I guess could be nothing if you do sleep naked—not that I was actually thinking about you naked. I mean, I just thought if you were still asleep you'd answer the door in whatever you wore whether it was pajamas or…something else…"

He stops his fumbling when she can no longer hold her laughter at his discomfort. His ears turn slightly pink and he looks boyishly appealing as he rubs a hand behind his neck. "Uh, maybe I shouldn't have chosen so early in the morning to meet. There are obviously parts of my brain that aren't fully awake."

She can't help but continue to tease. He is too adorable when he's flustered. "Perhaps. But I'd say there are definitely other parts of you that are."

The quick down turn of his head to check himself is priceless. He looks back at her to see her laughing smile. He playfully threatens, "You're going to pay for that."

"For that? That's nothing. I'm just getting back at _you_ for making me get up before six o'clock on a Saturday."

"It's not too early, is it?"

"Some of us normal people like to sleep in on Saturdays." She steps out of her apartment after grabbing her purse and keys. "Do you usually get up at the break of dawn?" They walk down the stairs side by side.

"I do like an early start to the day. Staying in bed late feels too much like wasting time."

"It doesn't have to feel like that. You might find you like staying under the covers all warm and cozy on a Saturday morning."

"Maybe I can be convinced if someone else were in bed with me, keeping me warm and cozy."

She nearly misses a stair.

"Are you okay?"

He just made a not so vague sexual comment and she immediately pictured them together as a naked tangle of limbs between the sheets. Of course she isn't okay. "Yeah, uh, I'm just not too coordinated right now." She puts on a gamely smile. "I guess we're both not at our best this early in the morning. You stumble over words and I stumble over my feet. I hope we make it in one piece to wherever it is we're going."

Arthur smiles down at her. "I think we'll be fine."

"Why do we have to start so early anyway? Do you have a busy schedule today?"

"I do have a full schedule today. But it's just best to get to where we're going very early."

Ariadne tries not to be too disappointed at his admission. She had been hoping they could spend a little more time together aside from breakfast.

When they reach the outside they begin to walk side by side in the brisk morning air, the sun slowly making its ascent. They walk in the direction of the Metro station. That much she can tell, but what she doesn't know is the exact location of where they are going.

"Where are we going?"

"To the place we're having breakfast."

She rolls her eyes. "I mean the location."

"It's a surprise."

"Is it far?"

"Not too far."

"What are those bags for?"

"It's part of the surprise."

"Why are you keeping it a secret?"

"Don't you like surprises?"

"Sure, I do. I just hate not knowing what the surprise is when I know there is one."

He laughs. "Well, I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to deal with not knowing."

She stops walking and gives him an accusing glare. "Is this your way of getting back at me for earlier?"

He walks back to her, taking one of her hands to wrap around his arm. He looks down at her with a mischievous smile. "No, this isn't me getting back at you for your little joke this morning. I wasn't planning on telling you even before that. I just enjoy teasing you."

Even though they're both wearing coats she's aware that her arm is touching his side. She can feel his body heat radiate to her. He smells of aftershave and the cold Paris morning air. She swallows to moisten her suddenly dry throat. Her admonishment comes out breathy. "Well, that's not very nice."

He grins and begins walking again, still holding her arm. She has no choice but to walk with him, pressed to his side.

"I'm sorry. Let's see if I can make it up to you."

Well, holding on to her is a good start.

* * *

One short trip on the Metro later and Ariadne discovers that their secret destination is the popular Saxe-Breteuil market along the tree-lined Avenue de Saxe, behind the Ecole Militaire. The market provides a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower and hosts fresh food vendors from all over France and even other countries, like Italy. This early in the morning there are already small crowds lining up to purchase ingredients for the days' meals.

Arthur takes her hand and expertly leads her to their first stop which is a nearby café where he orders café au lait for himself and hot tea for her, all in flawless French. When she tells him she didn't know he spoke fluently he responds, "There's a lot about me you don't know. I'm going to have to remedy that." A soft smile spreads across her face.

From the café they walk to a small boulangerie where Arthur is apparently a regular because the owner greets him profusely before taking in her appearance by his side. The friendly man teases Arthur about bringing along a 'lady' friend and trying to impress her with sweets. Surprisingly, Arthur jokes along with him, telling the man that ladies cannot resist a man who gives them one of the boulangerie owner's delicious pains au chocolat. The man winks knowingly before producing one of the aforementioned 'aphrodisiacs' still warm from the oven for Ariadne, as well as 'the usual' croissant for Arthur. Both men watch her as she takes a bite.

Ariadne is familiar with the French pastry. It's actually one of her favorites and she has her own favorite boulangerie where she buys them almost every morning. She doesn't think this particular shop can do any better but doesn't want to disappoint Arthur and the proprietor so she takes a big bite. Preparing to pretend to be savoring the best thing on earth, her eyes close in near ecstasy at the melting confection of buttery flakes and decadent chocolate in her mouth. She discovers she doesn't have to pretend.

"Mmmmm. This is like tasting heaven." Her French is not quite as elegant as Arthur's but she has a feeling she appropriately conveys her pleasure for the sweet pastry. When she's able to open her eyes she sees the owner grinning between her and Arthur. Arthur's eyes are transfixed on her mouth as her tongue darts out to lick her lips.

"Aren't you going to try yours?" She motions to Arthur's uneaten croissant while she continues to devour hers.

He stares down at the pastry in his hand and then back to her savoring every bit of the gooey chocolate. "I'm suddenly in the mood for something sweeter."

She smiles. "Sorry, I don't share chocolate." She pops the last bite into her mouth and uncouthly licks chocolate off her fingers, trying to get every last bit. Turning to the owner she says, "I can eat another one." She finishes licking her lips before taking a sip of her tea.

"I'm afraid it's one per customer today." Arthur brings a hand to her face and his thumb wipes the corner of her mouth before he brings the finger to his own mouth, sucking off the chocolate that he swiped. Her mouth goes dry and she swallows as she watches him take a bite of his own croissant.

The proprietor calls to her, pulling her away from Arthur and his hypnotic chewing and swallowing, and leans in close to ask her in a whisper if the chocolate worked—would she not be able to resist her gentleman? In a conspiratorial whisper of her own she tells the owner that Arthur didn't need the chocolate in the first place.

He laughs good-naturedly, reaching out to take the money that Arthur pulls out. When she tries to pay for their croissants, he refuses. The owner refuses to take her money as well, and instead takes her hand and gives it to Arthur who smiles and leads her out the door with a wave goodbye and a promise to return again soon. She tries to protest his paying for both her tea and croissant, but he just shakes it off and says, "Don't worry about it. Besides, we've just started. Come on."

He leads her towards the already busy market, holding her hand and taking her from stall to stall. The market is alive with the sights of busy Parisians and ambitious tourists examining produce, the sounds of vendor's hawking their wares and chatting up their customers, and the smells of fresh food and flowers everywhere.

They stop at several different produce sellers and Ariadne discovers why he's brought along the canvas bags. He's doing some of his own shopping, visiting his favorite vendors. They all know Arthur, who in turn introduces each of them to her by name. At one stand run by an elderly man and his son, the owners ask Arthur how the aubergines he bought the other day tasted. Arthur begins telling them how he prepared them and Ariadne stands flabbergasted and impressed when he mentions how he cooked the purple vegetable. She's startled when the older man turns to her and asks if she enjoys artichokes. When she answers in the affirmative he shoves several at Arthur while the son lists the recipe for an artichoke salad. Arthur writes down the recipe in his ubiquitous little black notebook. He soon thanks them before moving on to purchase the other items in the recipe.

Each proprietor of every stall they stop at has questions or comments for Arthur and knowing glances and suggestive remarks concerning their relationship. Arthur doesn't correct any of these assumptions and Ariadne is always too busy being plied with samples to explain the truth.

By the time they've reached the end of the market she's surprised that almost two hours have passed. They had talked about and tasted a variety of delicious foods which have almost filled up the two canvas bags that Arthur brought and he isn't even done yet. They make a few other stops to the butcher and also pick up a couple of bottles of wine and the customary bread and cheese before they stop in front of a little gray-haired lady next to a beautiful array of bright red wild strawberries. When she sees Arthur her eyes light up and she grabs him for a friendly kiss that she places on both his cheeks.

After he introduces Ariadne to the woman, Odette, she is enthusiastically greeted in the same manner. Once Odette releases her she immediately chastises Arthur in her exuberant French.

"Monsieur Arthur, why have I not met your mademoiselle before?"

"Actually, madame—."

"My dearest Odette, I did not want her to be jealous of the French beauty that has already captured my heart." Arthur gives Odette a smile that no woman, old or young, can resist.

Odette titters like a much younger girl that she is most definitely not, and slaps his arm like a true coquette. "Oh, Monsieur Arthur, how you flirt with me! You know, my Étienne does not like it when I tell him a handsome, younger man has fallen in love with me."

"Then perhaps your Étienne will fight for you as you deserve." He leans in close to her. "Otherwise, I may claim you for myself."

"Oh, but my Étienne could never win a battle against you! You are so much younger." Her tone changes to something more suggestive as she gives Ariadne a knowing look. "And so virile, right mademoiselle?" Then addressing them both, she sighs and says, "No, my Étienne is too old to fight." She smiles and her eyes water a little. "But he is mine and I am his. That is how it has been for over forty years." Waving Arthur off, she concludes, "No, no, you must be with your mademoiselle."

"I suppose you are right Odette. Your Étienne is a lucky man." Arthur gives Ariadne a playful wink. Even though she knows that both Odette and Arthur are teasing, Ariadne can't help feel a flutter inside at the thought of him being hers—and her being his, like Odette and her Étienne.

"I see that your shopping bags are almost full. But you have not completed your shopping. No, I know you have not because you have not picked up this carton of the best fraises in all of Paris. I set these aside for you Monsieur Arthur. Taste! Taste how sweet!" Odette walks to her stand and pulls out a carton of berries separated from the rest of her display. She pushes them at Arthur who takes a large, plump strawberry.

"After you, mademoiselle." He brings the fruit to Ariadne's mouth, encouraging her to take a bite. She's hesitant, at first.

The entire morning they have been sampling foods from different vendors but she has never been fed like this before. It's all so…intimate. Well, except that Odette is standing only a couple of feet away with her mouth hanging open, watching the scene unfold with hands clasped together and held close to her heart. Arthur waits patiently as she brings her mouth close to his fingers. Her teeth sink into the fruit, her lips closing after them. Arthur watches her as she chews, swallows, and licks her lips. She's sure the fruit tastes good but her brain is overloaded with such an awareness of Arthur that it can't process the taste. She gives a shy smile and he gives a confident one of his own as he pops the rest of the fruit into his mouth.

Odette gives her own secret smile while she asks in a teasing tone, "I think you enjoyed it very much, yes?"

Odette is referring to the strawberry, Ariadne thinks, but her simple answer of 'yes' could be applied to a host of other things, like being fed by Arthur; having him hold her hand throughout breakfast and their little shopping trip; learning as much about him in this one morning as she has over the last few weeks; spending a pleasant morning with him in such close proximity.

"I know I did." Arthur interrupts her musings to answer Odette's question. "Thank you, Odette, you are as sweet as your strawberries. But I'm afraid we have to be on our way." He leans down to kiss her on both cheeks.

"But you will come back again next week, yes? I will save another carton of the best strawberries for you and your mademoiselle to enjoy together."

"You're very kind Odette, but we may be busy next Saturday morning." Then, with a roguish glance Ariadne's way he says, "Mademoiselle prefers to stay in bed all morning."

Ariadne's eyes widen at his implication. "What! No! I mean—what Monsieur Arthur means is—."

Odette laughs. "You do not have to be embarrassed. I know what Monsieur Arthur means. I may be old, but I remember the fiery passions of young love." She pauses to take the money Arthur hands her. "I am surprised you two are out of bed at all. Why, when my Etienne and I were young and first married, we hardly left the bedroom."

"Oh, but no, you see, Arthur and I, we—."

"Must be leaving." Arthur interrupts her as he grabs her hand and starts to pull her away. "Merci beaucoup, Odette, it has been a pleasure, as always."

"Au revoir, Monsieur Arthur! Au revoir, mademoiselle! Remember to come out for fresh air every so often to come and visit me!" They walk away from her laughter.

"What exactly," Ariadne points back towards the strawberry stand, "was that all about?"

Arthur keeps his eyes straight ahead of him and innocently asks, "What do you mean?"

"'Mademoiselle prefers to stay in bed all morning.' I do not!"

"You told me that just earlier this morning."

"Yeah, but I meant I like to sleep_ in_ in the mornings. Odette thinks…"

He stops and turns to look down at her, not with the playful little smile he's had on his face all morning but with a dangerous, bone melting smirk.

"Odette thinks that we're lovers."

Damn him and his smirk. She wants to wipe it off his face.

At least, that was her intent, she thinks, when her hand reaches up to cup his face and her thumb traces over his widening grin.

Shock and mortification start to settle in when Arthur removes her hand, but they're quickly dispelled when he pulls her closer and whispers, "Odette is a dear lady. I'd hate to give her the wrong impression or disappoint her. Would you?"

His eyes search hers asking for permission he doesn't need. She stares for a moment at his mouth again; the same damn smirk is still there and she finds that more than ever she wants to wipe it off his face.

It's justification for why she tilts her head up and closes her eyes.

But the justification turns out to be unnecessary because Arthur pulls up, releasing himself from her hold.

For the second time that morning mortification creeps in, and again it's quickly dispelled when she follows his gaze down to his left. Standing next to him, tugging on his coat and holding out a pink rose is a little girl with long dark curls in a blue smock bishop dress, white tights and black Mary Jane shoes. The young girl is about five or six, standing next to a bucket of fresh cut long-stem roses, grinning up at Arthur and completely oblivious to what was just about to happen.

"Pardon, Monsieur, would you like to buy a flower for your mademoiselle?"

Ariadne lets out a discrete sigh, but smiles as Arthur bends down to have a serious discussion about which color rose is the prettiest. Arthur sides with yellow but the little girl insists that pink is far superior. They're at a stalemate so the little girl asks her opinion. When she says red both Arthur and the little girl shake their heads tragically over her obviously incorrect preference. In the end he buys them all, over two dozen of the little girl's pink, yellow, peach, and red roses. They wrap the flowers in paper and the little girl skips away with an empty bucket and full pockets.

Ariadne laughs as Arthur insists that there is room in their already full shopping bags to hold the flowers and watches as he tries to create space by pulling everything out and then rearranging everything back into the bags. Somehow, he manages the challenge.

"I'll admit, I didn't think you could do it. But really, you and I could have just carried a bouquet each."

"Yeah, what was I thinking?" Arthur smiles and reaches for her one free hand.

Ariadne decides not to question his organizational skills or motives again.

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**Author's Confessions:**

This is the poem I made reference to in last week's chapter

**"Hope" is the thing with feathers-**

**That perches in the soul-**

**And sings the tune without the words-**

**And never stops-at all-**

**And sweetest-in the Gale-is heard-**

**And sore must be the storm-**

**That could abash the little Bird**

**That kept so many warm-**

**I've heard it in the chillest land-**

**And on the strangest Sea-**

**Yet, never, in Extremity,**

**It asked a crumb-of Me.**

**-Emily Dickinson**


	9. Est Ce Un Rencard? Deuxième Partie

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Once again, I'm admitting now that I don't know any French, I've never been to Paris or France, and I hope my title translates to: Is this a date? Part 2.

Please forgive me or correct me if I'm wrong.

Chapter9 rating: PG-13

**Author's Greeting:** Hello. I'd like to take this moment and first say thank you to all of you who've reviewed the last chapter (and any chapter-especially every chapter-shoutout to LegalAssassin!). I didn't have the time to reply individually, as I like to do, and I would really like each of you to know how much I appreciate your kind and encouraging words. Each one always brightens my day and gladdens my heart. Thank you, sincerely (and sorry for being so mushy!). :)

I'd also like to let you know that my posting new chapters will take longer. I'm still writing and working on this fic, but it takes me a long time to write a chapter and edit it, and I don't want to post anything until I'm satisfied with it (this story gets a bit more complicated and as a result takes me longer to be satisfied with what I write). So, I just wanted to let you know that it may be another several weeks until you see another chapter, but I hope you'll stick with me. Unless you don't like it, then don't torture yourself. LOL

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. And if you're following along with my 'scoops', I intentionally didn't write one for this chapter and the last. I have a reason for that and it's not because I'm lazy. But I will eventually write one.

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**Chapter 9: Est Ce Un Rencard? Deuxième Partie**

Their next destination is Arthur's apartment.

The excitement that builds up inside of her at the thought of entering his domain is ridiculous. As are the different pleasant scenarios of how her trip there might end.

The walk from the market to Arthur's apartment is not long, or at least it doesn't feel like it. They spend the majority of the walk teasing each other. Well, mostly she teases him while he counters right back. First she jokes about his ungentlemanly behavior of having a woman carry his groceries for him. He laughs and quips that the bags are heavy and he was getting back at her for her little joke earlier. Then she remarks about him being a pushover for French women, old or young. He looks directly at her, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he tells her he has a weakness for a pretty face. Then he has the nerve to laugh when she almost trips because she's staring at him and not where she's going. Finally, she chastises him for using early morning breakfast and shopping as a ploy just to get her up to his apartment. He gives her one of his patented half-smiles and announces that they've arrived at his building.

When she wasn't blatantly admiring Arthur's handsome face she did take notice that they had walked along the Champs du Mars, eventually passing through beautiful tree-lined streets before arriving at an impressive cream colored building which they are currently entering through. She follows Arthur to a marble staircase where he offers to carry both shopping bags up the five flights to his apartment. Once at his floor, he leads her to a door in the corner of the building. Opening the door, he steps aside to let her enter first.

"Wow. You're staying here? Why not in a hotel like everyone else?"

Arthur closes the door behind him and removes his coat, hanging it on a hook on the wall by the door.

"I usually stay in hotels when I'm working, but I can't stand them for longer than a week." He helps her out of her own coat while she continues to admire his apartment.

It is not a hideously large apartment, even by her standards, and she lives in a closet of an apartment. But the openness of the space is tastefully decorated in an understated elegance; it is a blend of Arthur's furniture with its clean, modern lines, and the apartment's classical features like the restored original hardwood floors, a high ceiling with crown molding, a marble fireplace, and two large casement windows along one wall.

She wanders over to stare out one of those windows. Right outside is an ornate iron balcony with an iron table and a set of chairs. The tops of trees provide a curtain of privacy from prying eyes, but a gaze upwards reveals a view to die for as the Eiffel Tower looms above. "This view is amazing. The whole apartment is amazing, actually, though I have to say, a bit excessive considering you're only here for a short time, don't you think?"

"Actually, I own this apartment." She turns wide eyes on him. "Paris is my home base when I'm working in Europe."

Leaving her to further examine the room, Arthur picks up both shopping bags and takes them into a very modern, pristine kitchen on the other side of the room, passing by a dining table and entering through a kitchen door. A wooden folding window is opened, allowing her to see a moderate sized kitchen equipped with granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, a small island, and dark cabinetry. Bowls of fruit and small pots of herbs decorating the counter tops signal to her that his is a functional kitchen and not just for show.

Arthur sets the bags on the island, removing items and putting the perishable foods in the fridge.

"Are you in France often?" She tries to sound as casual as she can.

"I'm here often enough."

His vague answer is unsatisfying and she can't help but comment, "This is a pretty expensive home base. I never realized extraction could pay so well."

He answers from the kitchen while he's searching through his cabinets. "For the most part, yeah, it does. It's also a high risk job, though. It takes a lot of skill to evade the guys you're extracting from. But with high risk comes high reward. Depending on what you're asked to extract, clients can be willing to pay top dollar. The more skilled extractors can practically name their price." His search ends when he pulls out a silver bucket shaped vase and fills it with water. "I've been fortunate to work for some very successful businesses and corporations. Working with Cobb, with the kind of reputation he has, doesn't hurt either."

Ariadne walks into the kitchen and unwraps the flowers to arrange in the vase while Arthur returns to putting his purchases away. "I hear you have quite the reputation as well. Eames has reluctantly admitted that you have an obscenely high success rate when it comes to getting the information your clients want. I kind of think it bothers him that you've done so well." She pauses to smell the yellow rose in her hand. "I'd go as far as to say that he's envious of you."

Arthur scoffs. "He doesn't act like it. And don't go feeling sorry for him, he does all right on his own. It's his other activities that get him in trouble."

Ariadne can't help think he sounds a bit jealous at the moment. But he is right; Eames did have a penchant for other deleterious activities. "Trust me, I don't feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for myself for not living in my own expensive Paris apartment with a view of the Eiffel Tower." She places the last rose in the vase.

"Why don't I give you the grand tour?" He gestures to the kitchen. "This is the kitchen."

"Yes, that much I can tell. It also appears to be a fully functional, state-of-the-art kitchen." She crosses her arms and gives him an accusing stare. "This seems kind of a bit much for a guy who claims he can't cook."

"I never said I couldn't. I said I know a few simple recipes. And that it's not difficult to follow them in a cookbook."

She snorts. "Yeah, well tell that to all the meals I've ruined trying to follow a simple recipe." She grazes a hand over one of the granite counters. "You know, I never would have pegged you as a guy who likes to cook."

"And what exactly have you pegged me as?"

"The type who likes to go to three-star Michelin restaurants and whose idea of dining in is ordering take-out at some fancy shmancy eatery."

"Can't a guy be both?" He walks over and picks up the vase of flowers, exiting the kitchen to set them on the dining table. "I have nothing against dining at Guy Savoy or L'Arpège. But I can appreciate a home cooked meal as well." He pauses to give her a teasing smile. "Besides, I've heard it's every woman's dream to have a guy who knows his way around the kitchen. Preferably while wearing a frilly polka dot apron and plaid tie."

Ariadne can't help but laugh.

For the next half hour he shows her the other rooms. Aside from the living room and kitchen there's a bedroom that he converted into an office/library, a guest bathroom, and the master bedroom and bath—complete with a fully organized and expensively furnished walk-in closet that's about half the size of her bedroom.

"All of your clothing is high-end designer label. These suits alone could pay a whole year's tuition. And room and board!"

"Don't be ridiculous. They're not all designer labels."

He winces as she roughly pushes aside his hangers. "Not all designer labels. Look at this! Armani, Brioni, Canali, Prada, Zegna! Your closet is an alphabetical listing of Italy's fashion elite. Why didn't you just buy a place in Italy? You'd be closer to your tailors."

"Okay, so they're all designer labels. But Paris is much closer to London and I actually prefer Savile Row's bespoke tailoring. Besides, my Italian needs work."

She smiles, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at his pretentiousness. Spying a rack with identical garment bags she walks over for a closer inspection. They all say the same thing: Hardy Amies, 14 Savile Row, London.

"Ah, the epitome of bespoke tailoring rests in these bags. Mind if I take a look to see what all the fuss is about?"

When Arthur gives a noncommittal answer she turns to find him readjusting the hangers she had not so carefully pushed aside. Ignoring his obsessive compulsiveness she unzips one of the garment bags to find a rather sharp looking, single-breasted, light-gray, three-piece suit. Pulling it out for further inspection she concedes that it does appear to be well-tailored and can only imagine well-fitting, too. The jacket, waistcoat, and trousers are all made with the same material which has a light grid pattern that adds a simple pattern and is a nice alternative to regular pinstripes. The light color is a bit non-traditional for a professional business suit, but probably works well in warmer, more laid-back climates, like Miami or Rio de Janeiro.

Unable to resist her urge to run her fingers over it, she skims one hand down the shoulder of the coat, letting the sleeve slide between her index and middle fingers. Her hand comes back up again to repeat the same action, this time to one of the notched lapels. The material is soft and light to the touch and even she knows that the texture indicates natural fibers. Of course this suit would be made with the best wool fabric.

As she applies the same treatment to the waistcoat, fingering each expertly sewn button, Ariadne vaguely hears Arthur's voice behind her. "Well-tailored clothing is essential for the job. CEOs of successful corporations are more trusting of your skills and abilities if you look like one of them. They don't trust guys in cheap suits, which should partly explain Eames to you."

It's her turn to give a noncommittal answer. She's too distracted with images of how sexy Arthur would look in the suit. And out of it.

His arm reaches out from behind her to take the suit from her unwilling hands, startling her. "This is an example of the epitome of Savile Row bespoke tailoring. You've picked out one of my favorites. And from the way you've been ignoring me these last two minutes, I'll assume the suit made my point for me." He puts the suit back in the bag then leans in close to her ear. "And just so you know, I do look amazing in it."

He laughs at the guilty look on her face and saunters out of the closet, heading back to the living room, leaving her speechless.

Gathering her composure, she belatedly follows him out, taking a glance at the clock on the fireplace mantel. It's fast approaching 11:00 am. The morning is almost technically over and she should probably head over to the warehouse. Ariadne isn't sure what Arthur's plans are.

Trying to look unaffected at being caught picturing him in and out of clothing, she pastes a big smile on her face and says, "Thank you for breakfast. I enjoyed our little excursion, even if I did have to get up at the crack of dawn. And carry your groceries all around Paris." She tries to give him a more teasing smile, but she's afraid she just looks pathetic. "I should get back to the warehouse." She makes a move to the wall where her coat hangs alongside his.

Before she's even halfway, Arthur halts her by grabbing her arm. He stares down at her, brow crinkling as if he's displeased with something. "I thought you finished all the mazes and the dream levels."

"Pretty much, yes. Although, I have been making a few tweaks here and there. Actually, I…"

"But you've taught them to all of the dreamers. We all know our levels?" He interrupts before she can finish.

"I believe so. You all should, anyway."

"Then is there any other reason you have to go into work today?"

She has been making an adjustment to his level, one that she needs to go over with him at some point. But that day doesn't have to be today, if her instincts are correct.

"I…I guess I don't really have much reason to go back today."

His smile is triumphant. "Then I assume you don't have any other plans for today?" He releases her arm, walks into the kitchen and starts pulling out items from his fridge.

It's true, but she hesitates in telling him so because she's a little miffed he assumes she doesn't have _any_ other plans, even though she pretty much confirmed that by planning on going in to work. She does have a little pride.

"As I recall from yesterday, you wanted to have lunch together. Can I also assume that's still the case?"

"Yes." She quickly decides there is no room for her pride today. Not if it gets in the way of her spending more time with Arthur.

Besides, she still needs to wipe that damn sexy little smirk, the one he's got on at the moment that's complimenting the gray pinstriped apron he has just tied around his slim hips.

"Good. Do you get seasick by any chance?"

* * *

"This is why you asked me if I get seasick?"

Ariadne looks askance at Arthur as they sit in the small rowboat on Luc Inférieur in the Bois de Boulogne. After getting her to admit that she doesn't get seasick he put her to work, helping him prepare the artichoke salad he purchased ingredients for just this morning. Becoming his prep chef, she rinsed, cut, and measured ingredients as he worked his way around the kitchen sautéing the artichokes and whisking together the vinegrette. By the time he finished, she had sliced up a baguette and some cheese and packed everything up in a basket with their salad and a bottle of wine.

The basket now sits in the front of the boat as Arthur rows them around the lake. At this time of the day there are many people sitting out by the banks of the lake, enjoying the early afternoon sun with a picnic, but only a few boats are out on the water.

She leans back in her seat, both hands gripping the sides of the boat. Arthur sits opposite her with rolled up shirtsleeves, his muscles flexing through his shirt as he rows the little watercraft.

"I needed to be sure you weren't going to be throwing up all over my shoes."

Ariadne looks down at his leather oxfords and smiles. "Even if I did get seasick I highly doubt it would happen on such still waters."

They pass under a bridge where a group of children are watching them. She smiles and waves to the group and they wave back.

"You know, I've lived in Paris for three years now and I've never been here. Do you come here a lot?"

He rows them to a quiet part of the lake with only a dense forest of trees on either shore. Shrugging, he lets the boat simply float while the oars drag in the water. "I enjoy the water. Sometimes, when I get a bit nostalgic, I come here."

"You get nostalgic over rowboats?"

He laughs. "No, but growing up, I lived near Long Island Sound and as a kid my family spent a lot of time near the water."

Curiosity piqued, Ariadne sits up straight; a million questions are running through her head and she doesn't know what to ask first.

Because of the still water their boat floats idly, with Arthur making sure they stay near the center of the lake. No other boats are in sight.

Arthur looks at her. He did this deliberately, she thinks, for the privacy. No one but the birds in the trees and the fish in the water can hear them. "You want to know everything, don't you?" At her eager nod and smile he stares off towards the trees, giving his own soft smile. "Where should I start?"

"From the beginning."

He laughs at her matter-of-fact tone.

"How about where I grew up? I'm from Westport, Connecticut, originally. I grew up in an old colonial my great grandparents first owned and where my mother still lives. My grandfather was a big boating enthusiast and when I was younger we spent a lot of time sailing around Long Island Sound. He used to call me his first mate."

She smiles at the image of a young Arthur wearing a miniature captain's hat.

"I lived in Westport until I turned seventeen and went off to college. I went west, to California and studied at Stanford University—much to my mother's disappointment."

"Why was she disappointed? Stanford isn't anything to sneeze at."

"Why go to Stanford when you can go to Yale or Harvard? At least, that was my mother's reasoning. And I was going off to college only a few months after my father passed away. She didn't tell me at the time, but she didn't want me to be so far away, across the country. I did feel guilty making the choice at first, but I felt that I needed to get out of sleepy little Westport and try something new. She eventually understood, although for the first year my friends made fun of me because she made me call her every other night and tell her everything that happened that day."

"My dad was the same way when I went to Notre Dame. I'm his only child and he's always been rather protective of me. Some college students get care packages filled with home baked cookies and other comforts. My dad sent me a 'female self-defense' care package. There's nothing quite like opening a box that contains mace, a Swiss Army knife, safety whistle, flashlight, and a card with a listing for self-defense courses." She laughs before focusing back on Arthur. "What did you study at Stanford?"

"Psychology. It was through the department that I learned about the science of sleep and dreams. I worked with one of the founding fathers of sleep research there and after I graduated I got into a graduate program at Harvard focusing on sleep and dream research."

"You mother must have been pleased you went to Harvard. Is that where you got into dream sharing?"

"She was pleased, at least for a little while. But I didn't get into dream sharing until I worked for the CIA."

"You worked for the CIA?" Her surprise raises her voice and even though they are still in the middle of the lake Arthur turns his head left and right to see if they are overheard by anyone other than the birds.

"Yes. I dropped out of graduate school, again to the disappointment of my mother, to join the CIA. I was singled out by one of my professors who told me about an opportunity there. Turns out the CIA was hiring individuals to do research for a new dreaming technology and I was encouraged to apply. The US government had become aware that dream sharing could have 'other' useful applications and they weren't too keen on having our nation's secrets unprotected or exposed while we were asleep."

Ariadne gasps, still trying to wrap her mind around Arthur working for the CIA. "You were a spy for the CIA!"

He smiles at her assumption. "Not exactly. I was nothing more than a desk jockey, really. My research and analytical skills came in handy at the CIA. Dream sharing and extraction needed to be better understood and that's how my talents were utilized."

"I'm confused. I thought dream sharing had been around for decades. You told me the military developed it."

"The military did develop it, about twenty-five years ago. But it stayed within the military, until it somehow became known that it could be used for extraction. When it was originally developed dream share was used for practical purposes only, like combat training. We think it's been used for extraction the last ten to fifteen years. No one really knows for sure. Part of my job was trying to figure that out."

"The CIA didn't let you play spy so you left…to become one in dreams?"

He takes a moment to think about that before vaguely answering. "Something like that." And then suddenly he's serious. "Ariadne, what I've told you about working with the CIA, I need you to promise that it goes no further than between you and me. I mean it. Mention it to no one, not your family, not your friends, not Professor Miles or anyone on the team, including Cobb."

Arthur's tone is firm and the look in his eyes are pleading with her to consent to his request. He's exposed a huge secret, an important part of himself and he's trusting her to keep it. What she had initially thought was going to be a simple get to know you conversation turned into something more serious. She never thought she'd be taken into his confidences; she realizes it changes the nature of their whole relationship.

Ariadne leans over, closing half the distance between them and reaches over to grab one of his hands, making her case. "I've come to realize that you're a very private person, Arthur. I know that you don't share yourself easily with others—that you didn't want to get close." She leaves the 'to me' part unspoken. "And believe me when I say…I'm honored, if that's even the right word for it, that you told me and that you trust me with this." She adds a smile to emphasize her confession. "You can trust me. I won't tell anyone. I'm very discrete. I'm already keeping all of this a secret—the job, that is." Aside from Professor Miles, no one knew of her activities and she did take pains to cover her tracks and to appear inconspicuous. By all appearances she is still an architecture graduate student and still the same old Ariadne to those who know her.

Arthur leans over to effectively close the rest of the distance so that their faces are only inches apart. "You promise?"

"I promise." She takes a fortifying inhale of breath, deciding to take the initiative. "I'll even seal it with a kiss."

He smiles, giving her confidence to lean in further. Just as she's about to close the final inch between their lips, Ariadne hears a yell and before she knows it their rowboat is clipped by another. The jolt is hard enough that Ariadne knocks her forehead against Arthur's, causing her to see stars for a few seconds, though it's nothing too serious. It does, however, effectively stop them from completing the kiss.

"Are you okay?" Arthur grabs her by the shoulders and examines her head.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little bump." She raises a hand up to rub her forehead. "What about you?"

"The same."

"Oh! So sorry there! Is everyone okay?" An older man calls out in English from the other boat, which has pulled up alongside theirs. It contains an elderly American couple.

"Yeah, we're both alright. And you folks?" Arthur grabs the oars to steady their slowly turning boat.

"We're alright. But we're so sorry about that." The older woman proceeds to censure her husband. "See Gerald, I told you I saw a boat."

"You can't blame me for not believing you Miriam. You've been as blind as a bat without your glasses."

"And whose fault was it that I lost them at the market?"

"It's my fault? I'm not the one who insisted on getting up at seven in the morning to go there."

"And what's wrong with that? You get up earlier than that back home. Honestly, Gerald, why I put up with…"

Loudly clearing his throat, Arthur announces, "Uh, seeing as everyone is okay, I think we'll just be on our way." He starts rowing away from the arguing couple.

"Wait!" The woman in the other boat isn't through with them. "We are terribly sorry…" Taking in their appearances and the picnic basket in their boat, she continues with a sly smile, "for interrupting you two." In a more conspiratorial tone, she says, "You know, if you want some privacy, we heard there's a lovely sculpture of a naked couple kissing that's at one end of the lake. You and your boyfriend could continue your little rendezvous over there."

"Uh, thanks."

Miriam gives Ariadne an exaggerated wink as Arthur starts to row away again. Before they're out of hearing distance, Ariadne hears the two start up again.

"What did we interrupt? I didn't notice anything. And you can't see a thing without your glasses."

"Oh, Gerald, you don't need perfect vision to see what's obviously going on between those two."

* * *

**Author's Confessions:**

So Arthur's background. I know fanon likes militarybackground!Arthur, but I prefer CIA. Also, I had just started getting into Burn Notice when I first wrote this chapter. Someday I'd like to do a crossover where Michael Westen and Arthur are stepbrothers or something and they meet up in Miami and badassery ensues. Yeah...

One of the remaining founding fathers of sleep research is faculty (Emeritis, I think) at Standford. William Dement. He's awesome and, true story, I met him in an elevator and we talked about suits. He was one of the men (if not the man) who scientifically 'discovered' rapid eye movement sleep back in 1953. REM is the stage of sleep dreams occur in. And that's your fact for the day.

Here's a quote (I believe this is his): Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives. ~William Dement.

Almost forgot...apologies to Jeffrey Kurland, the man responsible for all the gorgeous clothing worn in the movie, particularly Arthur's suits. I believe he designed (or his team?) custom designed all the clothing worn in the movie. In the fic, I give credit to Hardy Amies, which is a real bespoke tailor, but Jeffrey Kurland is responsible for all the awesome clothing.


	10. Est Ce Un Rencard? Troisième Partie

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter10 rating: PG-13

**Author's Greeting: **Hi! Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who commented last chapter. You're the best!

* * *

**Chapter 10: Est Ce Un Rencard? Troisième Partie**

They eventually eat their picnic lunch by the naked couple kissing. Arthur had to admit Miriam's suggestion was a good one, though sadly, life did not imitate art.

But he really couldn't complain—much—since he and Ariadne spent a pleasant afternoon under the shade of a leafy tree. After he had rowed up to the shoreline and dragged the boat onto the deserted bank they immediately carved out their own little oasis by the sculpture. Arthur snapped open the blue and white checked blanket and they laid out the picnic basket, pulling out the salad, bread, cheese, and wine. They talked about little things—nothing of great consequence—but things that two people getting to know each other ask about the other.

They went over each other's favorites. Some answers seemed like obvious choices for the other, like when it came to favorite movies: the James Bond and Star Wars series; or favorite colors: gray and red. When he asked her what her favorite place was, and she said 'Paris,' he tried hard not to stare deeply into her eyes when he smiled and said, "Me, too."

Their conversation then moved on to some more defining moments.

Biggest accomplishments to date: hers was getting into graduate school and working on this job; his was learning Krav Maga and having the discipline not to use it on Eames.

Stupidest teenage rebellions: her dying her hair blue and sneaking cigarettes during gym class paled in comparison to his getting caught by the police trying to steal his grandfather's boat to impress a girl he liked.

And first kisses: hers was at seven when she made Kevin Miller kiss her under the slide during recess because 'he was so cute'; his was embarrassingly at seventeen when he finally hit puberty and grew a whole seven inches during the past summer, finally becoming taller than the girls.

Although they discussed those kisses, neither one of them mentioned their own two near kisses as they strolled around the park, arm in arm. And it wasn't spoken of during the trek back to Arthur's apartment either, or when Arthur convinced Ariadne to stay for dinner.

"I can't think about food right now."

"Well, we're not going to eat right now. Don't you observe local eating customs? Dinner will be served at ten tonight."

"Ten! I won't be able to wait that long to eat again!"

Arthur just laughs. "Well, maybe I can be persuaded to start earlier and we'll dine at nine."

"You're going to cook me dinner?" Ariadne contemplates this with a small smile on her face. "Nine, okay, that's in," she checks his mantel clock, "four and a half hours. What do you suggest we do until then?"

It's an innocent question on her part, he's sure, but his mind can only come up with not so innocent answers.

"Uh, how about you decide? I've been calling all the shots so far. We'll do anything you want."

"Anything?"

He can't quite interpret the gleam in her eyes and can only guess that whatever she has in mind will either end very well or in humiliation for him. And backing out would only make him look like a coward. "Anything."

"Well…" She hedges, looking out his window and effectively avoiding his gaze. "…there is something I really want to do." She doesn't continue.

He walks over to get closer. "What is it?"

Ariadne continues to evade his eyes. "I—I just don't think you'll want to—mostly because it's going to involve getting very personal…and intimate."

"Ariadne." He softly calls her name and his gaze drops to her flushed red lips. They've been getting personal and intimate all day, just not in the way that he's sure they'd both enjoy. "Just say it."

"Arthur…I want you…I want you to tell me more about yourself."

Not quite the intimate activity he was hoping for. "You want to know more?"

Moving away, Ariadne grabs his hand, leading him to his sofa. She pulls him down to sit with her, face to face. Her eagerness is evident.

"I want to sit here and get to know the point man. I want to know what he was like as a little boy and how awkward a teenager he was. And how long he's been fluent in French and where he gets his impeccable sense of style. Does he even own a pair of jeans? And what his first extraction job was like and what was the most dangerous." She pauses in her list, before gently saying, "I want to know what makes the point man—you, well, you."

"We already did that, back on the lake."

"Yes, but you asked me if I wanted to know everything, and I do. You only whet my curiosity back at the park," she gives a cheeky smile, "much like you whet my appetite for your cooking."

"So, you want to sit here and listen to me talk about myself?" It's a bit of a foreign concept to him. Usually, he's the one uncovering information about a person. To have the tables turned in such a way gives him pause. He already told her too much. Aside from his family, she already knows more about him than any one else, including Cobb. The less that is known about him the easier it is to keep his identity secret so he can fade into the woodwork, so to speak, which often comes in handy when the risks of extraction get too high.

But Ariadne is quickly becoming a special case. His instincts are telling him he can trust her, and he rarely ever feels that way about anyone. And she doesn't seem or appear capable of duplicity. Telling her his secrets doesn't cause him anxiety, but rather, makes him feel—liberated. Arthur doesn't always like to admit it, but living a secret life of crime sometimes wears him down. He very occasionally wonders what it might be like to hold down a normal job, live a normal life and settle down and have a family. Most times, the thrills and rewards of extraction outweighed those daydreams. But recently, he's been contemplating those what-ifs—and he knows the reason why.

And right now he can't find it in himself to say no to her, especially when she's looking so hopeful and tempting in her short black and white dress. "Okay, what do you want to know?"

Her eyes light up like a little child's on Christmas and he can't help but smile at her obvious excitement. Her enthusiasm squashes any doubts he may have had.

* * *

On the sofa he tells her bits and pieces about his family and his childhood.

He tells her that Arthur Samuel Beckett was born and grew up in Westport, Connecticut, the son of Andrew Beckett and Caroline Stanton. Caroline's family had initially disapproved of their daughter marrying Andrew, not because he was a fireman, per se, but because he was not a man who wanted to be groomed to take over her family's small publishing company. Despite their disapproval, Caroline married Andrew anyway and had two children, Camille, the older sister, and Arthur, the youngest. The birth of the children would eventually spur on a reconciliation so that Arthur would grow up with happy childhood summers as first mate on his grandfather's sailboat.

As it so happened, the cool, charming, and sophisticated present day Arthur was a result of later influences as most of his teen years were as awkward and torturous as any typical teenager's. He was a self-proclaimed nerd, focused more on his studies than extracurricular activities like sports or clubs. Being a late bloomer didn't help as he was small and scrawny for his age until puberty finally hit at the age of seventeen. But it was his relationship with his father, and later his father's untimely death that same year that would make the biggest impact on Arthur's personal growth and eventually shape him into the man he is today.

He and Ariadne don't sit too long as Arthur insists on starting on dinner, so they migrate to his kitchen where they work side by side, preparing the 'easy' beouf bourguignon recipe he found but needed three hours to cook. He slowed down his storytelling while they were cooking and he could tell she was impatient to get back to the couch so both of them could focus on her questions and his answers.

As it was, in the kitchen he could only recount that his college experience was fairly typical. Arthur had always been a good student and his logic and reasoning skills found a place at a sleep research laboratory with a prominent faculty member at Stanford. His new found fascination with sleep and dreams, especially lucid dreams, was fostered in one of the top universities with that focus, and because of that by the end of his four years he was easily accepted into a Harvard graduate program to study those very same topics. But though his aptitude for research and analysis were above par, Arthur began feeling restless again. He wasn't fit to run laboratory experiments and write academic manuscripts. His mentor noticed this and despite the university frowning upon losing one of their brightest before matriculation, Arthur applied to the CIA where he was accepted and put to work on researching and testing dream share technology.

It was with the CIA where Arthur learned about the military's original purposes for the technology. The CIA obtained access to it once it was discovered that a person's subconscious thoughts could be infiltrated and his secrets could be gleaned through a process being called extraction. The CIA was a bit behind on this new technology and they recruited people who could quickly advance their knowledge. Soon, it became imperative that they begin training their own recruits to learn how to extract information. The development of ways to secure one's mind against extraction was not far behind. Arthur was one of the individuals leading the charge for the CIA.

He was there for two years before he met Cobb, under circumstances that he is hesitant to explain.

"I met Cobb through…a mutual acquaintance." He tells her as he pours a fine Burgundy into the Dutch oven. "I told him how I knew all about dream share technology and that I wanted to learn more about extraction. Cobb was hesitant about me at first. He said I didn't seem like the right type for the business."

"How did you change his mind?"

He laughs at the recollection. "I gave him a detailed presentation of what I knew about dream sharing. That didn't impress him as much as the background check I did on him. He had given me a fake name when we first met. When he asked how I found out, I wouldn't tell him. I also told him that I'd go to the proper authorities and turn him in unless he taught me. Cobb just laughed and said he was impressed that I could use blackmail so easily even though he knew I'd never go through with the threat. He also told me he liked my attention to detail and resourcefulness. My negotiating skills were going to need some work though."

"So what you know about extraction you learned from the CIA and Cobb?" She is incredulous.

"Essentially, yes. At the CIA I learned about the history of dream sharing and its development. I also performed simple extractions with test marks and learned how to take out projections. We had dedicated architects who designed the dreams for us. It wasn't until I met Cobb that I was eventually taught how to properly design a dream. And Cobb was the first to show me extraction in the real world."

"What was it like for you? Your first time performing a real extraction, I mean."

He pauses to place the Dutch oven into the conventional oven, and smiles at a memory. "My first real extraction was actually on Cobb, during my training. His subconscious security at the time was far more advanced than anything I had ever encountered with the CIA. I almost had it but he threw me under a bus before I could crack his secret. I couldn't get near buses let alone ride them for several months after that."

"Why didn't he just shoot you?"

"He said the bus was more convenient, but I think he was trying to teach me a lesson."

Ariadne smiles. "Did Cobb also teach you combat fighting and weaponry as well?"

"No, Cobb didn't teach me any of that. I trained in combat and weapons while I was at the CIA. In the event that I was ever tossed into 'the field' I needed to be able to fight like a trained field operative. Plus, my boss was an ex-Green Beret and all his guys, no matter what the job, needed to know how to fight. Sometimes we trained in dreams but most of the time we didn't."

"What about paradoxical architecture, who taught you that?"

They've just finished preparations in the kitchen and walk out onto the balcony to enjoy the Campari apéritifs that Arthur mixed himself. He waits until they're seated before he continues.

"Mal did."

"Mal?"

"Yeah. She and Cobb were trained together, by her father, your Professor Miles."

"Stephen is Cobb's father-in-law and Mal's father!" Ariadne is clearly taken aback.

"You didn't know?"

"He never told me." She whispers, obviously still mulling over what he disclosed regarding her mentor.

"We don't speak of it, what I'm doing, that is. Yet, he introduced me to Cobb…"

"And you're wondering why?"

She nods, distractedly, a frown creasing her brow.

"Isn't it obvious?" She looks at him, waiting for him to explain.

"Cobb is certain that inception can be done, but the risks are high and failure…well failure is not an option that he can afford, which means he needed to assemble the best. We came to Paris because we needed an architect and Cobb knew Miles could provide him with one and because Miles only trains the best."

"Oh." She's clearly flustered by his flattery.

"And Miles obviously has a stake in this too. If we succeed, his grandchildren will get their father back."

Ariadne is silent only for a moment before she asks, "So Stephen knows about extraction?"

"Yes, though I doubt he's ever actually performed it. Extraction was never his intention with the dreamscape. But he did teach Mal and Dom a lot of what they know about dream architecture and navigating through people's minds. When Mal trained me she often mentioned that her father wanted to give her an outlet to unleash her creativity. He taught her how to build the impossible."

She nods, distractedly, a frown creasing her brow. Then, she looks up and smiles suddenly.

"You know, it just occurred to me that Stephen has indirectly taught you about dream architecture, and in a way, he's also taught me. You were a very good teacher, by the way. I meant everything I said to Cobb that first day we trained."

He smiles. "Thanks. I guess you could say that we're both disciples of Professor Miles. It's really a testament to his teaching style because Mal was a good instructor too. Better than Cobb, actually. She was more patient and less sadistic than Cobb during dreams."

Ariadne gives him a skeptical look. "That's a little difficult for me to believe considering my only encounter with Mal ended up in dream death by kitchen knife stabbing."

"You've got to remember that Mal, the one you encountered, that's just Cobb's projection. Why she's always so…cruel…I haven't fully figured out. That's not how she really was."

"I know. She was lovely, right?"

It doesn't escape him that she recalls his earlier words. He stares off into the distance, letting pleasant memories cloud his mind before continuing. "I wish you could have known her. She really was a very gentle person. And she loved to laugh. And sing. She had quite a good voice. Édith Piaf was her favorite. Non, je ne regrette rien. She said they were words we should live by."

"Non, je ne regrette rien? That's the music you're using to synchronize the kicks. When I asked you about it you told me it's one of your favorite songs."

"Yes, Mal introduced me to Piaf's music and she taught me how to use it during dreams as a timer, a way to indicate exactly how much time was left. We would spend hours in a dream creating different paradoxes and finding ways to disguise them. Cobb wasn't interested in teaching them so Mal and I were often alone during these training simulations. We grew close during those dreams and sometimes time got away from us."

A slight smile graces his lips and a faraway look creeps into his eyes as he remembers. "She was a beautiful person. Early in our acquaintance I thought she might have had stronger feelings for me. But I was twenty-three and a cocky bastard—naïve too. I thought this beautiful, sophisticated woman had a thing for me." He laughs derisively. "I had just woken from a dream. It was the first time I had ever been shot in the head. I started shaking. Cobb left to get a glass of water and Mal put her arm around me to try and comfort me. She whispered comforting words—half in English, half in French. Then she tilted my head up to look me in the eyes and told me I was okay. That's when I leaned in and tried to kiss her. I never had a woman pull away from me so quickly." He shakes his head at the memory. "That was the biggest reality check I could have asked for. I bolted out of the room and left their place before Cobb could ask what happened. I'm not sure what Mal told him, but that next time we went under was when I had to extract Cobb's secret and he threw me under the bus."

Ariadne remains uncharacteristically quiet when he finishes. There's a look on her face, one he's seen before, both long ago and fairly recently. It's a look that only until now, Cobb had given him and the last time was when he found him and Ariadne alone in the warehouse after that first training session.

"You're wondering whether there was more between me and Mal than a platonic friendship."

She looks up, surprised. "No, I wasn't—."

"I know that's what you're thinking because you're giving me that same look that Cobb did, six years ago—before he asked me if I was in love with his wife."

"Were you?" The question passes through her lips quickly and he can tell that she didn't want to ask but is dying to know.

"I cared for Mal. Despite that little incident after that one dream, we became good friends. And I did come to love her, just as I know she loved me. But it wasn't a…romantic love—on either side. I told Cobb the same thing."

"Arthur, you don't have to explain. I get it. You two were close friends. You—you probably told each other things that no one else knew about."

"She reminded me of my sister, after a while. I'm pretty close to Camille. But I don't tell my sister everything, and I didn't tell Mal everything, either."

This brings Ariadne's eyes to his. "You didn't?"

"No."

He watches Ariadne's reaction, and just as he anticipates, she avoids his gaze and tries to casually say, "Did you ever tell her about killing your grandmother's prized roses? How you drank half a bottle of your grandfather's forty year old Glenfiddich and threw up all over them?"

He smiles, shaking his head.

"How about the time you and your college friends drunkenly serenaded some girls in your underwear?"

He grimaces. "No, and I'd rather you not tell anyone else about that. Especially Eames."

Ariadne laughs. "Are there pictures? I would have loved to seen you in action."

"There were pictures, but I've gotten rid of them all. One of the undisclosed perks of working for the CIA."

In a low voice, she asks, "Did you ever tell her about the CIA?"

He smiles, confirming her understanding. "No, I never told her about that. Less than a handful know about that. You're one of them." She smiles back and they sit in comfortable silence, watching the sun starting to make its descent, bathing the sky in a soft glow.

"How long have you been fluent in French?" True to her word, Ariadne really does want to know everything.

"I started learning French in high school and continued in college. After I started working with Cobb, I was able to come to France every year, for a few weeks at a time."

"When did you start dressing as if you came off the pages of GQ magazine?"

Arthur laughs. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that I…" He stops midsentence when she rolls her eyes. "Alright," he concedes, "since I joined the CIA. My sister liked playing dress up with me when I was younger. She never grew out of it. She said just because I joined the CIA didn't mean I had to dress like I was in the CIA." He shrugs before adding, as nonchalantly as he can, "And the suits also impress wealthy business clients. And women too. They can't seem to get enough of the bespoke pieces—although I think they'd rather see me out of them than in."

She ignores his teasing by pretending to cough and taking a long drink of Campari. "So what was the most—."

"Uh-uh." He shakes his head. "It's my turn to ask you a hundred questions."

"But your life is so much more interesting than mine!" Arthur finds himself gulping down some of his own Campari to try to distract himself from her pouting lips.

"Besides," she continues, "Eames told me you run background checks on everyone." She raises an eyebrow, clearly challenging him to deny the accusation.

"So you know about that?"

"Yes. Eames said you always make sure whoever you're working with is 'on the up and up'—that he _or_ she won't pose a threat to the job." She pauses for a moment with a look of amused confusion on her face. "I've been wondering how you could ever consider Eames being 'on the up and up.'"

"I don't. But he's managed to evade Interpol red notices and the FBI's most wanted list, so he checks out for the time being. And Cobb believes we really need him, so he gets a special pass." He takes another sip of Campari to get rid of the bad taste that admission leaves.

Thankfully, Ariadne picks up on this and moves on. "What about me? What do you want to know about me that you haven't already looked into? I'm curious to hear what you've found out. Impress me with your point man skills."

"Not only did I have to answer your questions about myself, but now I have to answer questions about you? I don't think you understand how this works."

He's baiting her to see how she'll respond. He's amused when she counters with, "Isn't it the _point man's _job to find out things about people? Your hesitation makes me think that you may not be as good as advertised."

Ariadne takes a sip of Campari to hide her smile, but he can see her eyes twinkling above the glass. Arthur chuckles at her challenge and at throwing his earlier words back at him. "Touché." He sits up from his relaxed position, prepared to impress with the extent of his knowledge. "That deserves some answers, I think. Are you ready to be impressed?" At her smile and nod he continues. "How about I start by telling you I know you grew up in Oak Park, a suburb of Chicago; your dad is in construction which just so happens to be his family's business; your mother is his receptionist which is also how your parents met; you were in the math club in high school, where you were secretary, and you joined the American Institute of Architecture Students at Notre Dame, where you served as treasurer."

She puts on a façade of boredom. "Oh, so you got into my school records. Any one with half a brain can access those. I said I wanted to be impressed."

He continues, undeterred by the accuracy of her little dig. "Aside from having your tonsils removed at age ten, wearing braces on your teeth from ages twelve to fourteen, and spraining your right foot at age sixteen after roller hockey practice one day, you've been in excellent physical and mental health. Your father's side of the family has a history of cardiac disease, and you yourself have no allergies, have never had extended hospitalizations, and are currently not on any prescription medications aside from birth control."

He's amused by the soft blush at the last part. "Should I be concerned that I'm not more concerned that you were obviously rooting through my medical records and violating my privacy?"

"Necessary physical and mental health background check. I won't tell anyone you contracted chicken pox at age eight," he assures her.

"I'm relieved. Well, you've proven yourself to be a good computer hacker, I guess." Ariadne shrugs her shoulders as if to say, "So what?"

"You don't find that impressive?"

"No, no, it is," she tries to assure him, but not convincingly. "But can you tell me anything about me that isn't logged into a server? Finding out if I passed calculus and whether or not I had the mumps seems, inconsequential, don't you think?"

He hesitates for a moment. Now she's the one baiting him. He thinks about telling her about sneaking in to her apartment and teasing her about what he found in her drawer, but decides to take a different route. "When you were twelve you broke your neighbor's bedroom window while playing roller hockey with the neighborhood kids."

At this revelation, all pretense of being unmoved by his sleuthing skills disappear as she sits up, eager to hear what he's uncovered. "That's never been one hundred percent proven as fact."

"One of your old neighborhood friends, a Mr. Johnny Wilkins, would beg to differ. He says, and I quote, 'Ariadne played roller hockey worse than a one-armed, blind-folded orangutan who couldn't hit the Great Wall of China,' end quote."

Ariadne's only response is to cross her arms and mumble that Johnny Wilkins is an ass.

"After hearing what he said about you, I agree. But breaking Mrs. Goodrich's original Frank Lloyd Wright window pane was the first stepping stone in your decision to become an architect, wasn't it?"

She's noticeably surprised by his claim and before she can ask how he came to know that, he proceeds to tell her.

"I spoke with Mrs. Goodrich on the phone. Actually, she spoke, I listened. She's very fond of you and Mr. Wright; and now, of me, apparently. I'm welcome at her home on Northeast Avenue in Oak Park, any time I'm in the area, just so you know."

"So charming little old ladies on the phone is just as easy as in the French markets, huh?" She's quick to tease, but then her smile softens as she stares into the fading sunset and begins to reminisce. "Evelyn Goodrich is a sweet old lady. I'm sure you know this already, but she introduced me to Frank Lloyd Wright and his architecture that day I _allegedly_ broke her window."

"According to witnesses—."

"Anyway," she silences him with a look, "I initially couldn't understand how she could be so upset over one broken window. After all, my dad could have easily replaced it for her. But she explained to me what I had actually done, how I had destroyed a piece of art. I felt horrible when she told me that. So did my parents apparently because they made me go to her house after school and all summer that year, to help her out as part of repayment for the window. She was a widow and alone in that big house since her children were grown and moved away. At first, I hated those visits because I thought they were just about punishment and retribution. But then one day she gave an impromptu tour of her house to some tourists visiting the neighborhood and that day I witnessed firsthand how proud she was, and is, of her house and its history. She made me fall in love with Wright that day, too. Afterwards, my visits became something I looked forward to. We discussed Wright's architectural philosophies and talked about architecture and design in general. Even after that year of mandatory visits, I made regular ones with her up until I left for Notre Dame." She turns back to look at him. "So yes, you're correct; Mrs. Goodrich and her house did influence me to become an architect."

"She also had a cat she named Lloyd, for Frank Lloyd Wright, of course. He died from internal injuries, after a fall from the roof of her house. The cat, not the architect."

She laughs softly. "She really did tell you everything, didn't she?"

He smiles and nods, ""She convinced you to apply to Notre Dame to study architecture, and then to come out here to study under Stephen Miles. And she considers herself your first teacher."

Distractedly, Ariadne murmurs her consent. She's obviously contemplating something and is silent for a moment before asking, "I'm curious about a few things."

Of course she is. Arthur knew he was taking a risk disclosing all this information regarding Mrs. Goodrich, but he did so anyway to 'impress' her.

"I'm curious to know how and why you contacted Mrs. Goodrich. I've never mentioned her. How does talking to her help you determine whether I'm 'on the up and up'?"

"It doesn't." Arthur grabs their now empty drink glasses and heads back inside, switching on lights in the darkened apartment as he makes his way to the kitchen. He places the glasses in the sink, leaving his back turned away from the balcony and Ariadne. Even though most of this day had been planned out since leaving her apartment yesterday and realizing how much he wanted to spend the day with her, he didn't prepare himself for what she's sure to realize—that digging into her background became less of a task for the sake of the team and the job, and more of a way to get to know her.

Knowing that she knows everything he does about her—and how he acquired that information, he wouldn't blame her if she left his apartment screaming for the police to come to his door.

But that's not really her style. She's forward, direct. Her interrogation would be worse than any the police could give. And that's what he is most afraid of.

A couple minutes pass before he hears her enter the kitchen. "If talking with Mrs. Goodrich doesn't help your investigation of me for the job, then I have to assume that you asked her about me…for another reason." Her voice is quiet, but he can hear it clearly because she's standing only a couple of feet away. When he turns he finds her with a careful expression on her face. "I want to know what that reason is."

"I think you've already figured that out."

Smiling, she takes a step closer. "I need to be certain. And I want to hear it from the horse's mouth."

She's not going to make it easy on him, but he can't just come right out and say it. Instead, as casually as he can he leans back against the kitchen counter, crossing both arms and legs to appear nonchalant, while his heart is pounding a mile a minute. "Maybe I wasn't asking Mrs. Goodrich about you specifically. Maybe I just wanted to finagle an invitation to her home. I like Wright's architecture too."

He's gifted with a wide smile and another step in his direction. He isn't fooling her.

"That is quite the invitation." She closes in on him, a few inches now the only separation between their bodies. "What if I offered you one of my own?"

He swallows once, keeping his gaze locked on hers. "Are you inviting me over to your home in Oak Park too?"

"Not exactly." She reaches out to take one of his hands, causing him to uncross his body. He widens his stance when she tugs him toward her; she steps in between his legs, bringing her body in contact with his before she brings her hands up to loop around his neck. He automatically wraps his arms around her waist, bringing them closer together.

Standing on her toes, she leans up so that her chest presses against his. "How's this for an invitation?"

At the increase in intimate contact, he tightens his hold around her and lets out a low mummer of pleasure; both her laugh and eyes are triumphant. She's obviously pleased with herself. He soon finds a reason to triumph himself when he feels her thumbs caress the nape of his neck.

"You know, I should be really angry with you for such an invasion of privacy." She's scolding him, but there's no anger behind her words. "I mean, I should be totally livid—creeped out, even."

He pulls back, the guilt seeping in. "Ariadne, I'm sorry. I just…"

Ariadne silences him by tightening her hold and pressing herself closer to maintain the contact between them. "But I'm not." She unlocks one of her hands from behind his neck to cup his face. "Should I be concerned that I'm not angry at you? What kind of person does that make me?"

"A saint and one who will hopefully take pity on an idiot like me for trying to deny that I liked you and wanted to get to know you—not for the job, but for me." His confession comes out in a rush but it's rewarded with a smile, so he continues. "I wanted to know what makes the architect—you, you." Her thumb moves across his lips, much like it did earlier today.

"I would have told you anything you wanted to know, Arthur. And I will, if you ask me. You can ask me anything."

"Can I kiss you?"

She grins at his solemn question. "Just say you're accepting my invitation Arthur, because I've been waiting all day for you to kiss me."

He's been waiting as well, and yet he didn't want to rush this. Tentatively, he turns his head towards the hand still cupping his face, bringing his hand over it and pressing her palm into his lips to place a gentle kiss. Desire is reflected in her eyes as he removes her hand from his face and holds it between their chests.

"I accept."

Ariadne uses her left hand to eagerly guide his head down to hers. From somewhere deep inside he feels that fluttering of hope that he experienced the other day while in her apartment and for a moment Arthur stills, contemplating whether it's possible that she's really real. He's never met anyone quite like her, so open and honest. None of the women he's dated have ever stirred emotions within him as easily as the woman currently in his arms has.

This couldn't all just be a dream, could it? The urge to pull out his totem almost overcomes him.

"Arthur?"

At the sound of her husky voice, a different urge takes over, along with a new feeling of unabashed joy that pulses through him. The sensation is so strong, so vivid, he's afraid that Ariadne can feel it too when her smile is suddenly replaced by a frown.

"Arthur?"

"Ariadne."

"You're vibrating."

"Sorry, I—."

She loosens her hold on him to look down at his pants. "I think it's your phone." She looks back up and smiles. "If not, then I'm impressed."

Ariadne laughs at his frustrated groan. With great reluctance he releases her so he can dig his phone out of his pocket. A glance at the caller ID elicits a quiet curse.

"It's Cobb. I'm sorry, Ariadne, I have to take this." He hopes she can see how much he'd rather not.

She merely nods as she walks away, heading towards his balcony. "Take the call Arthur. The invitation still stands." With that, she steps outside.

"God, I hope so."


	11. Through The Eyes Of Eames

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter11 rating: R for language and adult themes (sex)

* * *

**Through The Eyes Of Eames**

"You were right."

"Of course I was." Eames takes a sip of his tea. "About what?"

He and Ariadne have just settled in for afternoon tea at his favorite café, the one where he can ogle the waitresses with the most 'sunny dispositions.' He'd been away the last few days, returning to Sydney to conduct more reconnaissance on the Fischers and Peter Browning.

Setting down her teacup, she attempts a male British accent. "You're too obvious, love. If you want Arthur you can't throw yourself at him. He has women doing that all the time. Restrain your bloody hormones and quit offering yourself to him on a fucking platter. Let him do the chasing." She switches back to her normal voice. "We spent all day together last Saturday."

Eames grimaces. "Okay, first of all, that was a god awful accent; never attempt it again. Secondly, I told you so. Thirdly, it's about fucking time. If you asked me one more time if Arthur was sneaking looks at you, I would have wrung your pretty little neck. And fourthly, and most importantly, how was the sex? Was it as boring and unimaginative as I'm sure it had to be?" He gives her an expectant look.

"I didn't say anything about us having sex. And that's none of your business."

"It isn't any of my fucking business? Have I not been giving you advice on how to get into his tailored trousers?"

"No! You've been helping me get his _attention_." And then because she can't help herself, she smugly adds, "Besides, I don't need advice on how to get into his trousers. I believe I have that covered."

Her choice of words elicits a nasty leer. "I'm certain you do. Little minx, you're holding out on me. C'mon, give Eames all the naughty details. You know if you don't I can just get you drunk later. And you remember how that turned out last time."

Ariadne sighs in frustration and acceptance. She had discovered that he was very good at getting a woman to tell him everything, especially when he was plying her with free drinks and taunting her with inside information about a certain handsome 'stick-in-the-mud.' There is no other option than to confess. When it comes to Eames it's the easier course to take, and the less embarrassing one.

"Arthur and I did not sleep together, okay? We haven't even kissed."

"You didn't fuck his brains out? Haven't even fucking kissed? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Shhh!"

"No, you need to hear out loud just how pathetic you two are."

"We're not pathetic! We just…we were always…it just wasn't supposed to happen, I guess."

"But you wanted it to?" He doesn't give her time to protest before he says, "What am I saying? Of course you wanted to. You've wanted him since day one. No, don't try to deny it. _In vino veritas, _remember? I'll have to assume it was him, then. Was he not _up_ for it?"

"I'm sure he was _up_ for it. But that's not what I meant by what I said."

"Alright, now I'm getting confused. Please explain to me what two people, who are obviously attracted to each other, do all day together if not roger each other senseless, hmm? How do you not even steal a kiss? Were you two too busy knitting sweaters? Or playing a lively game of Scrabble? Perhaps he gave you a lecture on proper firearm maintenance? That's what he did, didn't he? Lectured you all day about everything he thinks he's an expert in. Tell me, please! Inquiring minds want to avoid the recipe for not getting laid."

"You don't have to be sardonic."

Eames frowns. "What does being a sardine have to do with anything?"

Despite his mocking her, she laughs. "Arthur's right, you do need to read more."

Eames ignores her dig and persists. "You know I'll just find it out anyway. Save me the effort and tell me what kind of trouble you two got into so I can have a laugh and figure out a way to help you."

His offer of help is sincere, she knows. Eames has become her main, and only, confidante when it came to Arthur since she couldn't mention him to her girlfriends without having to explain more than she could. And as much as she is loathed to admit it, Eames has been a great help when it came to the point man. She can't deny that his suggestions have worked—so far. There really is no point in keeping anything from him, so Ariadne proceeds to tell him everything. "Well, it actually started a few days ago when I fell asleep at the warehouse…"

She proceeds to tell him all about the events that led up to last Saturday, skipping over Arthur's personal revelations. She promised Arthur that she wouldn't tell anyone, and even if he didn't ask her to she knew those details were meant for her alone.

Eames, for his part, remains uncharacteristically silent while she recounts Saturday's events. When he doesn't so much as crack a smile when she purposely mentions Arthur's pants vibrating while she's all over him, she stops, convinced that the lack of running commentary means he's tuned out.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"I've heard every word."

She waits for a beat, expecting him to dig in. "That's it? You're not going to say anything about how you would have had me out of my panties if you took me to your apartment? No thinly veiled insults against Arthur's wardrobe? You aren't going to lecture me on the finer points of jumping a guy's bones?"

Eames responds simply with, "No."

"Who are you and what have you done with Eames?"

Much to her surprise, Eames leans across the café table, takes one of her hands in his, and gently says, "Look, I'm not going to make fun. I've been watching you tell me all about what you two have been up to, and if you could see your face and the obvious excitement running through you every time you mention something Arthur did or said, well, you'd hold your tongue too."

"Oh." It's the most magnanimous he's been regarding her and Arthur and she's taken aback by it.

He laughs softly. "Threw you for a loop there, didn't I?"

"I…I'm just…yeah, actually. I didn't expect this from you. To be quite honest, I don't know if I like this side of you. It makes me kind of uncomfortable."

He laughs, releasing her hand, his usual smirk back in place. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, then for the record, if it was me, I would definitely have had you out of your panties before I'd even gotten you inside my apartment. And in my opinion a man shouldn't spend so much time fitting himself for clothes; he should be coming up with ways to get himself out of them. And as for advice concerning the jumping of a guy's bones, if you're making a man vibrate down there then that's the only bone you have to worry about, and you told me earlier you had that _covered_."

As he intended, Ariadne laughs, relief evident in her face, convinced now that the man in front of her is the same old Eames. "Thanks, I actually feel much better now that I know you're still the same old incorrigible Eames."

"Good. Now, tell me why you two didn't end up rutting on the kitchen table."

Her face scrunches in distaste at his wording.

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. You two didn't make sweet passionate love together. Now tell me why."

She sighs before continuing. "Arthur's phone rang, or rather vibrated. It was Cobb. He needed Arthur for something and whatever it was made it necessary for Arthur to have to leave right away." And keep him away from the warehouse for several, agonizing days.

"He just left. And you went home all hot and bothered?" He gives her a smirk that makes her unsure of whether or not she prefers regular Eames over magnanimous Eames.

"He made his apologies that he couldn't see me home, but I assured him I wasn't offended and that I would show myself out." There's a brief pause before she quietly includes, "Only, I didn't."

"So you stayed behind in his apartment while he was out?" He takes a moment to consider her revelation, tapping a finger on his chin before realization lights up his eyes. "Ahhh, I understand now. You went nosing about, doing your own research on Mr. Specificity, didn't you? I must say, rather clever of you."

His admiration towards her assumed snooping doesn't sit well with her and she quickly tries to clarify. "I just thought I'd surprise him with a finished meal, kind of like he did with me when he brought me back to my apartment that one day. The dinner he made was still cooking when he left and I thought it'd be a shame to not let it finish." Rather shyly, she adds, "Plus, I maybe wanted to show him I wasn't completely inept in the kitchen so I decided to put together a strawberry tart for dessert. But by the time I'd finished Arthur still hadn't returned and dinner wasn't quite done yet so I decided to browse through his book collection to pass the time. And that's when I found it."

She's hesitant to continue, not sure if she wants to hear what Eames has to say. She'd been consumed with self-pity and what-ifs since her discovery. Her mind starts to meander back down that road now, keeping her silent so that Eames is forced to ask, "What? What did you find? Pornography? A Voodoo doll? A cryogenically frozen Walt Disney? What?"

She grimaces in distaste. "No! It was a book."

"A book? You found a book, while you were snooping through his book collection? Fancy that!"

Ariadne decides that she definitely prefers magnanimous Eames. "I wasn't snooping! And it wasn't just any book. This particular book caught my eye for some reason. I opened it, and I—I found a photograph inside. It's a recent one…of Arthur and a woman—a really beautiful woman." She pauses to inhale and then slowly exhale a long breath to brace herself for her next words. "They…they both have an arm around each other's waist and the same bright smiles on their faces. And the woman is holding a copy of the book, the same one I just opened. It's called, 'Until We Meet Again.' It's by Anne St. Clare. There's a picture of her on the dust jacket." And then, with all the self-pity she can assemble, she concludes, "She's also the woman in the photograph."

Finding that picture of Anne made her real and that discovery startled and upset Ariadne more than she liked. For a while now Arthur's Anne was only a name, one that she conveniently ignored because Arthur was here in Paris, with her, and Anne of the mutual understanding was not. That picture made Ariadne realize that for all their talk of getting to know each other and their sharing of secrets, she still didn't know everything about the point man. And maybe even worse is that she doesn't even really know him at all.

Eames however, is completely unsympathetic. "That's why you're giving me that pathetic mopey face, because of a picture?" His chuckles turn into guffaws and Ariadne thinks it's lucky for him they're in a public place.

"I'm not being mopey!" She tries hard not to pout, but Eames doesn't buy it.

His amusement at her expense lasts for quite some time before he finally collects himself. "I take it you didn't ask Arthur about her?"

"No, I left his place soon after finding the picture and I haven't seen him since." She looks at him, trying to garner some sympathy. "He'd shared so many things with me, but…not that. I'm afraid of the answer."

Eames shakes his head sympathetically. "My silly, love struck, girl. How many times do I have to tell you? There is nothing going on between them."

"Yeah, I know, you keep telling me. But what if you're wrong? Have you ever seen her? I mean, this woman is model-gorgeous. I couldn't stop staring at her, trying to find some flaw. But guess what? She doesn't have any! She's lean and sleek with dark wavy hair, luminous eyes, high cheekbones, wide smile with perfect white teeth; and she was wearing a dress that no doubt was tailored to fit all her curves perfectly, because honestly, no one could ever look as good as she did in the dress she was wearing. She's exactly how I imagined she would be when you and Arthur first mentioned her: beautiful and sophisticated and successful. And she's probably really intelligent and charming and nice, too—completely perfect for a guy like Arthur."

Eames had gone quiet, staring unseeingly at his tea cup during Ariadne's description of Anne, but his full attention is brought back to her after her last comment. "Why would you say that? How is she perfect for a guy like Arthur?"

She frowns at him, confused by his question. "Well, I'm only assuming since I don't know her personally, but if what I'm assuming is correct, then she's basically the female version of Arthur, in terms of physical appearance and personality."

"So only the Annes and Arthurs of the world can be together and find true happiness? No one less than perfect than their own kind will do? Leaves such a bleak outlook for rest of us, doesn't it?"

She's a bit taken aback by the personal tone of his sarcasm. "What are you talking about? I'm not saying that. You're putting words into my mouth."

"And you're jumping to conclusions. Perhaps Anne isn't everything you think her to be. Did you ever consider that maybe she's not perfect, or even the perfect woman for Arthur? Maybe her tastes are inclined towards less than perfect. And maybe so are Arthur's."

"Is this your way of telling me that I have a shot? By hinting that a girl like me, one who's obviously less attractive and less accomplished than Anne, has a chance with a guy like Arthur?"

"Now you're putting words into my mouth. And self-pity doesn't become you, Ariadne. You're not less attractive or accomplished." She's chastened by his rebuke. "Look, all I'm saying is that sometimes looks can be deceiving, especially perceived looks. Trust me, I make a living being able to read people. You should also trust me when I tell you, for the millionth time, that Arthur and Anne's relationship is…platonic."

"How do you expect me to believe there's nothing more between them—."

Leaning across the table, Eames repeats his earlier actions, grabbing her hand in a comforting gesture. "As I've told you time and again, that's privileged information. You'll just have to trust me on this, like you have everything else regarding dear old Arthur. I'm not misleading you, Ariadne. Friends don't do that."

"We're friends?" The question leaves unbidden from her mouth. Up until this moment, Ariadne never considered their relationship in that way; it has always been defined by the job—co-workers with a strange sort of camaraderie built on the basis of deception.

Does she trust Eames enough to call him her friend?

"I didn't realize it was a question." He releases her hand and avoids her eyes. Taking a sip from his tea cup, he grimaces when he discovers his tea has gone cold.

He's obviously wounded she questioned him and her heart clenches a little bit at how like a hurt little boy his demeanor becomes. When she considers it again, she has to admit that much like friends, they have shared the occasional drink together and they do have a similar sense of humor. They've also always gotten along very well and had even shared things that don't usually get shared with mere acquaintances or even co-workers. And she already admitted that he is her confidante in all matters Arthur. She trusts him in that, at least. And she does genuinely like him.

With this realization fresh in mind, it's her turn to reach across the table to grab his hand to try to soothe his ego. "Yes, Eames, we are friends. I'm sorry I didn't acknowledge it sooner. I've just been so…overwhelmed by everything that's going on in my life right now: getting recruited for this job, dream share, paradoxes, inception; and on top of that is this confusing thing that Arthur and I have going on. I realize you've been patient with—."

"Yeah, yeah, shut it." She's taken aback and annoyed by the quick release of his hand and rude command, but appeased somewhat—if not still a bit annoyed—when she sees his favorite waitress, Noémi, approaching their table. With a long suffering sigh and a roll of her eyes, Ariadne endures the spectacle that is Eames' sloppy French flirting.

"Ah, Noémi, la lumière de ma vie. Mon thé a fait froid. Peut-être vous pouvez le chauffer avec votre disposition ensoleillée?"

Ariadne tunes out the rest of the conversation and just shakes her head when Noémi, completely besotted with Eames' charm, finally leaves to get Eames another cup of tea.

"Who needs friends when you have Noémi's 'disposition ensoleillée' to keep you company?"

"It never hurts to have more friends, right? We are friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are. And you would have known that if you didn't tell me to shut up so you could flirt with the waitress."

"Ah, well, I already knew we were friends, even before you knew it. I just wanted to tease you. It's so easy to, you know. And you're so adorable when you take it so seriously. You're like my own little pocket pet."

"I hate you."

"I love you too." He gives her a wink and Ariadne begrudgingly laughs. Despite his flippancy towards the subject, Ariadne can see that Eames is rather pleased, in his own way, that she acknowledges their friendship. She has to think that given what he does for a living, his list of people he can call a true friend is not very long. In fact, she suspects there might only be one name on it.

"Okay, now that we've established that we're friends, will you please tell me how you know about Anne and Arthur? That seems like the kind of thing friends would tell each other."

"Pocket pet, indeed. You're like a hungry dog with a bone. You never let anything go, do you?"

While Ariadne is not exactly thrilled to be likened to a pet or a dog or being able to fit in his pocket, she lets it slide and waits expectantly, hoping that their confession of mutual friendship will finally lead Eames to tell her what she wants to know.

Eames sighs and turns serious. "I'm only going to say this once, Ariadne, and you have to swear you'll never tell Arthur." She impatiently nods her head in agreement. "I've done my own research on Anne and all I can say is she's not who Arthur makes her seem." He stops and she waits for him to continue, but the shaking of his head is not promising. "I'm sorry, Ariadne, but that's all I can confess to."

"You mean that's all you're willing to confess." She crosses her arms and pouts, displeased with his lack of disclosure.

"If you're expecting me to give in to your hurt puppy routine, forget it. As my friend, you'll have to trust me and promise you'll never breathe a word of this to Arthur."

"Breathe a word of what? You haven't told me anything." He doesn't bite at her taunt but waits expectantly for her to agree and she sighs in acceptance, sitting back in her chair to mull over what Eames has told her. He has always been secretive regarding why and what and how he knew about Anne and Arthur. She's tried time and again to pry it out of him, to no avail. Still, she is persistent. "What do you think about that picture I found?"

"Anne has apparently written a book. That picture is most likely just some celebratory thing." A quick frown appears on his face as he takes a moment to contemplate something, but it's just as quickly displaced by his usual charming smile. "There's nothing to worry about, Ariadne. In fact, if you consider the fact that Arthur has taken you on three dates, you'd realize getting worked up over that picture is all unwarranted."

"What are you talking about? Arthur and I didn't go on any dates."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Forgive me for thinking that a date is one of those things where two people spend time doing things together like share a meal or perhaps go on an outing with the exact purpose of getting to know each other." Dropping the sarcasm, he says, "Think about it, Ariadne. You and Arthur went on three dates—well, two and a half; breakfast and the quaint little adventure in the open market, a boat ride and picnic lunch next to some highly suggestive statue, and then a home-cooked dinner back at his place with the 'million dollar view'—which only counts as half because you two never had dinner." He shakes his head and chuckles a bit, obviously impressed. "That bastard, I've got to hand it to him, that's bloody brilliant and very efficient. No doubt he would have had his _point man_ in your _architectural niche_ if Cobb hadn't point man-blocked him." He laughs at his perceived wittiness.

"Are you going somewhere with this?"

"You know, for a smart girl, you're awfully dense when it comes to Arthur." She's about to argue but Eames continues. "Let me put it this way, do you honestly think Arthur is the kind of guy who would romance a girl on some kind of super-date if he already had someone special?"

She shakes her head to answer him. No, she doesn't think that Arthur is the type who would play those kind of games.

"The man went out of his way to impress you, even though we both know, and most likely he does as well, that he doesn't have to go through all that trouble just to sleep with you."

"Hey! You're making me sound like he could have just asked and I would have jumped into bed with him." She adds, "Which is _not_ the case!" when Eames just smirks.

"Okay, okay." He raises up his hands as both a gesture of self-defense and to placate her. "What I'm really trying to get you to understand is Arthur isn't the type to lead someone along." His tone becomes serious once again, with a hint of melancholy behind his next words. "No one in this business can afford to do that when it comes to relationships. This kind of life isn't easy, believe me." He pauses a moment, considering something before he continues, this time with a more positive note in his voice. "If he's trying this hard to impress you, then you can assume this isn't some fleeting thing. He likes you Ariadne, wants you, even. Silly notions regarding Anne aside, I'm not quite sure why you're having such a hard time comprehending this or what exactly _you're_ waiting for."

Eames has given her a lot to think about and she takes a moment to consider it all. Thinking back to the events of Saturday, she admits he has a point about the date thing. Ariadne had questioned it herself, she was just wary about jumping to conclusions and experiencing disappointment if it turned out that Arthur only wanted to be friends. But if she thought about it more, the signs were really pointing in the direction Eames had suggested. Arthur's asking her to meet for breakfast instead of lunch should have tipped her off. The shopping they did in the morning hadn't just been an opportunity to run an errand; he had planned to shop for the both of them and to eventually convince her to spend the day with him. And the cooking together in his apartment, the holding hands everywhere they went, the boat ride on the lake, the getting to know each other, the flirting and the near kisses…these all pointed to an intimacy that went beyond basic friendship. Ariadne had known this, but the incident of finding the picture had her not thinking straight and suffering needlessly over…nothing.

"I suppose you could be right."

"Of course I am. Aren't I always?" He smiles. "But the question still remains, what are you waiting for?"

"I'm not sure. I just need to think—."

"That's your problem. You're thinking about this too much. Don't think and just do. And by do, I mean, him." Eames gives her an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, making her laugh.

"I thought I'd find you two here." Yusuf arrives, pulling out a chair out to join them. "Cobb wants to go over your scouting trip. He asked me to get you guys back to the warehouse as soon as possible." With a mischievous smile on his face he asks, "I'm not interrupting you two lovebirds, am I?"

Their contradictory, "Don't be ridiculous," and "We were just about to get horizontal on this table" cause the chemist to laugh.

"I was only joking. I know you two don't have a thing going on." He turns to Ariadne. "Unlike you and Cobb, right?"

"Cobb! Why would you think that?"

Apparently Yusuf's in no hurry to explain or get them back to the warehouse. He takes his time with his response, making her wait when Noémi returns with Eames' tea and an assortment of sweets. He also mulls over the café menu even though he always ends up ordering the same Turkish style coffee. And there's even further delay when Yusuf starts flirting with Noémi. Ariadne, anxious to hear his reasoning, kicks him under the table eliciting an undignified yelp and an unimpressed look from Noémi, who finally leaves to place the order.

"Bloody hell, what did you do that for?"

"Cobb and me? Really, where does that come from?"

Giving his shin a final rub, Yusuf shrugs and says, "You two seem to have gotten quite close. I originally suspected you and Arthur at first, ever since that first day we met and we walked in on you two…doing whatever it was you two were doing."

"We were training!"

"Right, training" He shares a smirk with Eames before continuing. "But then you two became somewhat distant and awkward around each other. That's when I noticed you and Cobb."

She didn't realize Yusuf noticed her and Arthur's somewhat stilted interactions with each other. They were part of her efforts to not throw herself at him, as Eames suggested. At least before the other day, she thought she and Arthur managed a polite and strictly professional working relationship and that only Eames knew of her huge crush. As for her supposed 'thing' with Cobb, that needed explanation. "And what exactly did you notice?"

Yusuf leans his arms across the table, stating his facts in a tone akin to Sherlock Homes delivering a detailed, analytical deduction. "I've observed that you're with him a lot. You're always asking him questions and following him around with your eyes." He gives her a squinting look, as if he's carefully examining her reaction to his observation. She just rolls her eyes. "And I've seen you peek in a few times when I've stayed late in the warehouse to…run some tests with him. I know Cobb stays late most nights and Arthur told me that you stay late almost every night."

She couldn't deny any of his claims. Ariadne did spend a lot of time with Cobb. Initially, she thought Cobb might be another mentor to her, like Stephen, since Cobb had been an architect as well. But when he refused to know too much about her designs and nothing about her mazes, she became consumed with knowing why, ultimately questioning him about everything. She surmised, and eventually discovered, that his reluctance to get involved in the detailed planning of the designs had to do with Mal. It was then that she realized how much he didn't trust himself. It also made her question how much she could trust him.

Her curiosity and suspicions only grew when she started noticing him working late in the warehouse, conducting 'experiments' alone. What kind of experiments did he need to run late at night, by himself?

Her reverie is broken up by Yusuf, who continues his deducing. "But then again, Arthur stays late too, so…maybe it is Arthur you have a thing for?"

"Or maybe the three of us are just working hard. Have you ever considered that?"

He thinks about it and shakes his head. "Hmm, no, I don't think that's it." He gives her a leering grin. "You know what? I bet those lawn chairs can be real comfortable for activities other than dreaming."

Exasperated, Ariadne throws her hands up in the air. "Sure, Yusuf, you've figured it out. You're a real Sherlock Holmes."

"They're not sleeping together, if that's what you're implying."

"Eames!"

"Who is she not sleeping with? Arthur or Cobb?"

"Both. Poor girl needs a good shag, though. Maybe you have something that can help her, like an aphrodisiac or something?"

Yusuf chuckles. "Actually, there is something I've been casually working on that's akin to Viagra, only much more…potent. The mice I've tested it on end up going at it like rabbits for about two days."

Eames grins wickedly at Ariadne. "Yeah, get my girl some of that stuff. She can slip it into Arthur's coffee. I don't think anyone will miss you two for a couple of days if you decide to hole up in bed to fuck all day. Arthur needs a good shagging just as much as you do."

"Shhhh!" She looks around nervously at the other tables, whispering fiercely. "I am not going to slip Arthur Yusuf's…Viagra on steroids and you two are _not_going to have a conversation about my sex life."

"Or lack thereof." Eames is momentarily silenced by the murderous look Ariadne shoots him. Yusuf is much more disciplined and does his best to suppress his laugh.

But the topic is thankfully dropped because Noémi returns with Yusuf's order. Ariadne decides to be grateful that both Eames and Yusuf have concentrated their efforts in vying for the attentions of the petite waitress rather than scrutinizing her love life.

She was going to have to do enough of that on her own.

* * *

**Author's Confessions:**

I used google translate for Eames' French. What he's supposed to be saying is: Ah, Noémi, light of my life. My tea has gone cold. Perhaps you can warm it with your sunny disposition.


	12. Point Man, Interrupted

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter12 rating: PG-13

* * *

**Point Man, Interrupted**

Arthur enters the warehouse feeling as exhausted as he looks. His clothing is wrinkled from the long plane ride in the confines of economy class, he has bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and he didn't bother with shaving the last few days he was away. He would have gone back to his apartment to clean himself up instead of heading to the warehouse first thing after landing in Paris, but he knows Cobb is anxious to hear about the reconnaissance mission. His vanity had to wait.

Taking a quick look around, he sees no one else inside the cavernous mainspace, but he knows that Cobb is most likely inside the small alcove that he uses as an office. Arthur starts to make his way over there, but he's distracted when he sees the table holding the designs for his dream level. Automatically his mind conjures up an image of the petite architect working over it, adding little finishing touches here and there—a sight he's actually seen many times before.

Smiling with that image in his head and ignoring his duty to Cobb, he makes his way over to his layout spread on the table, shedding his coat along the way and draping it over the back of a nearby chair. As he examines the details he knows Ariadne thoughtfully and carefully laid out, he continues to make himself more comfortable. Pulling at the Windsor knot of his tie to loosen the garment, he decides to remove it completely, draping it over his coat before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He's almost finished rolling up his shirt sleeves when Cobb appears.

"You're alive. I was getting worried." Cobb gives him a quick look over. If he's surprised at Arthur's less than professional state, he doesn't acknowledge it. As Arthur predicted, he's anxious for information. "How was Johannesburg? Cobol give you any trouble?"

"I can take care of myself when it comes to those thugs." Arthur had spent an adrenaline-filled two days in the South African capitol keeping an eye on his back the whole time. "They're all brawn over brains. No stealth, no finesse—unlike me." He drops the bravado when Cobb's face remains serious.

Walking up to Arthur, determination making his gaze hard, he cuts to the chase. "What the hell happened over there? What's Saito up to? Is he playing us?"

Arthur sighs and rubs a weary hand over his face, noting with distaste his growing whiskers. He summons up the patience to remain calm and remember that Cobb has been anxious ever since he'd called him last Saturday, interrupting his date with Ariadne—among other things—with word that the businessman left Paris saying only that he had urgent matters to attend to. Cobb had been eager to find out what these matters were.

After some sleuthing they had narrowed down Saito's destination to South Africa, where Cobol Engineering's headquarters were located. Suddenly, this trip was setting off warning bells in both their heads. Making a trip into the territory of the company that hired them to steal from _him_ was a bit suspicious—enough to make it worth checking up on the tourist; and so Cobb asked Arthur to keep tabs.

"Saito wasn't in South Africa. We were wrong, but you may be happy to know that we can visit there any time we please. True to Saito's word, Cobol dropped the price on our heads, which, consequently, is part of the reason why I'm standing before you in one piece." Despite his earlier assurances, Arthur is thankful that Saito did hold up his end of the bargain.

"So he kept his promise on that end. Were you able to track him down though?" Cobb asks.

"Yeah. He was in Tokyo the whole time."

"Tokyo? How'd we miss that?"

Arthur shakes his head, not sure either how they, _he_, could have been so off on Saito's destination. "I'm not sure, but I did follow him there once I realized my mistake. Turns out he wasn't lying. He did have urgent matters to attend to, but not the kind you're thinking." Cobb raises a brow and Arthur continues. "He has a son who turned ten recently. He went back home to celebrate his son's birthday."

"That's it? Are you sure? Could he have been there for something else?"

"Possibly. There is some word that he had some business deal to take care of, some plans to finalize. But after getting his destination wrong, I'm not sure I trust that information."

"And he arrived back in Paris last night," Cobb says, deep in thought.

Arthur nods, confirming that Saito had left Japan the day after his son's birthday.

After considering this information Arthur can see the tension ease from his friend's shoulders and face. It had to wear on him, placing so much trust on a man he isn't sure _can _be trusted; only Saito truly knows whether or not he can or will deliver on his promise to get Cobb back home to his children.

"Whatever business he had to take care of, doesn't involve us," Cobb deduces, more to himself then to Arthur. "Thanks for doing that. By the looks of it, it wasn't easy." Cobb nods towards Arthur's appearance.

Arthur shrugs. "I've been through worse."

Cobb nods, the earlier tension now gone. "Yeah, I remember Toronto."

One of the first jobs they did together had Arthur jumping out of a third story window to escape a mark's security. Luckily, he landed in a garbage bin and survived with nothing worse than a dislocated shoulder, a fractured rib, and other minor cuts and bruises, all while smelling like curdled milk and rotted vegetables. Afterwards, he went straight to his sister's to recuperate but wasn't past the threshold of Camille's apartment more than a minute before she forced him to contact Cobb. After seeing her younger brother bruised and bandaged on her doorstep, Camille gave Cobb, whom she held responsible for her brother's injuries, an invective earful or two over the phone—she yelled at him for at least twenty minutes.

"You'd never be able to tell by her appearance, but your sister's got a mouth on her." Cobb says, shaking his head in memory. "Are you still planning on visiting her after this?"

Arthur had been planning on a couple of extended visits to both his sister and his mother. It was what he was supposed to do after the Cobol job, only this job interrupted him.

"Yes. You know Camille. I was pretty vague when I told her about what I was doing and I'm sure she's worried." His sister knew the truth about what he did, though he did keep her in the dark about certain details and limited contact with her and his mother while he was actively working. Camille didn't like that much—she played the overprotective and superior older sister role to a tee—but she eventually understood that he had to do it for her and their mother's safety.

"And after that?"

The question brings his attention back to Cobb. "Find more work. You know me. What am I going to do if I'm not doing this?"

"You could always settle down. Get married, have kids, work a normal job."

Arthur scoffs, but only half-heartedly since he'd been thinking about those very options, and very recently too. But he doesn't admit this to Cobb. Instead, he lies and says, "There's a novel idea. I'm not sure it'd suit me."

"You're not going to want to do this forever, you know." Cobb replies.

"Probably not. But I'll cross that bridge once I get to it." He figures that will be a long ways away, anyway. "Right now, this job is all I'm focused on." That's not entirely true, but he didn't want to discuss his growing admiration for their architect with Cobb.

"If we pull this off I'll be going back to my kids. It also means you'll be out of a partner." Suddenly, Cobb is looking at him carefully, as if he's weighing Arthur's reaction.

"I know, but don't worry about me. I can work solo for a while until I find someone I can trust enough to partner up with. There are other good extractors out there."

"I know there are. And they shouldn't be hard to come by."

"Yeah, you're right. Donovan, for one. He's pretty trustworthy."

Dom seems to be considering the extractor that he and Arthur have worked with numerous times before. "Yeah, he's good, but maybe you should consider a different option."

"Like who? Rhodes?"

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of partnering up with an architect."

Arthur's eyes turn suspicious as he wonders where Cobb is going with this.

"Do you know any architects I could team up with?" To Arthur's knowledge, there were few, if any, who were both talented and dependable enough to work with for the long term, and he wasn't going to work with just anyone. He learned that lesson with Nash.

Cobb looks him straight on with a completely neutral expression. "Ariadne."

"Ariadne? You think I should work with Ariadne?" He had a small hunch that Cobb might mention her, but he's surprised by the suggestion all the same.

Cobb shrugs. "Why not? She's talented and intelligent. She works hard and picks up things quickly. You've seen for yourself what she can do. I think if she chooses to continue building in dreams, she can be a real asset to anyone she works with. And I've been thinking that if you're both up for it, you two could make a good team."

Arthur frowns, questioning Cobb's confession. "You've been thinking about this? That Ariadne and I could work together?"

Cobb nods, "Why not?"

Why not, indeed. Still, it seemed odd that Cobb would suggest it.

"Ha—has she…have you…" Arthur pauses to clear his throat. "Have you mentioned this to her?"

If he didn't know Cobb better, Arthur would have sworn he saw Cobb crack a quick smile. "No, I haven't, do you want me to?"

"No!" Arthur doesn't mean to object so forcefully. At least Cobb doesn't say anything. "I mean no," he repeats in a more reasonable tone. He's not sure why he's acting so…nervous. "I mean, if I wanted her—I mean, if anyone should ask her to work with me, it should probably be me."

"So you'll ask her?"

Damn it, what was Cobb doing?

"Ariadne is...talented." He avoids answering Cobb directly. "And…I'm sure you're right, anyone working with her would have a real advantage…" Before he can get too attached to the idea of the two of them…working together, he adds, "But she's too inexperienced, even with this job under her belt. And she may not want this lifestyle."

Cobb shakes his head at these arguments. "What makes you think she'll turn down the opportunity to do it again? She couldn't stay away from this job."

"This job is different. You know that, just like you know as well as I do how hard this life can be. What we're doing isn't exactly legal most of the time. There's a lot of danger involved. Why would she want to put herself through all that when she can have a successful career as a legitimate architect building realstructures—structures that will last a much longer time than a dose of Somnacin can provide."

Perhaps he protests too much because Cobb smiles a rare smile at his arguments. "For the same reasons that lured you in: limitless creativity and the constant thrill. They're luring her in as well," Cobb easily counters. "And who said she can't do both? Plus, I think she's more resilient than you give her credit for. As for her inexperience, like I said, she's a quick learner. You know that. You've trained her yourself. And you could continue to, if you wanted."

Cobb starts to head back to his office. "Miles was right about her, you know. She's better than I was when I first started and I believe she can only get better. Extractors are a dime a dozen and they're always in need of a talented, reliable architect. And I know you; you can't stand working with anyone not up to snuff. If Ariadne decides that she wants to continue building in dreams, she may very well become the best out there. Wouldn't you want her to work with you and not with other extractors?"

No, he wouldn't want her working with any other extractors. That'd be a horrible idea—a downright distasteful one, in fact.

"It's just food for thought. You might want to keep her in mind for yourself. She probably wouldn't mind working with you and I think you two could be good together." And with that Cobb disappears without waiting for Arthur's response, which is just as well because he needs time to muddle through everything Cobb just said as well as all his own rampant thoughts regarding Ariadne.

But Cobb's last words echo in Arthur's head. Keep her in mind for yourself. You two can be good together—he and Ariadne. Cobb means to work with, not…to be with together…in a non-professional relationship.

Would she even want to continue with extraction and dreamshare? If she did, would she say yes to an offer to join him? And if she doesn't, where would that leave them?

But he's getting ahead of himself. There is no 'them'.

Does he want a 'them'?

Arthur lets out a sigh and rubs another weary hand over his neck, tired and more flustered than he'd like to admit by this latest conversation with Cobb.

Keeping Ariadne in mind isn't a problem. She's been on his mind all day and for the past several days. All his attempts to try not to think about her have been futile. Aside from mentally preparing himself for this job, this thing between him and Ariadne, the one he can't quite quantify yet, has also been weighing on his mind. These last few days away from her have brought to light just how much he's come to admire and really like her.

Maybe 'really like' is not strong enough. His thoughts of her may well be reaching obsessive levels. And Cobb pointing out the benefits of having Ariadne as his architect is not helping to temper those thoughts.

But he can't deny that Cobb's arguments for Ariadne being an asset to the field are all true. With her level of talent, she can be an architect for any extractor out there. And with a bit more field experience, he can easily see her in high demand, making a decent career of building in dreams by working with the right people—the key word being the 'right people.'

Not all extractors are 'the right people'. In essence, they're all thieves who play by a slightly different set of rules and have their own moral code. But there are some extractors who don't abide by any code except that which ensures self-preservation. These are the men who would leave you out to dry to save their own necks, so easy is it for the ruthless instincts that serve well while extracting in dreams to carry over into the waking world.

The thought of Ariadne getting mixed up with those extractors…well, it stirs a very primitive kind of protectiveness in Arthur that he's never felt before. Just imagining an asshole like Nash selling her out like he did him and Cobb riles up his anger so much so that before he knows it, he's mentally kicking the asses of these scumbags who'd dare to harm or betray her. And in his mind, when he's done taking names, Ariadne's there smiling up at him in that adorable way of hers and he's melting at her feet and she's joining him on the floor and then they're naked, tangled in each other's arms and kissing each other breathless while her agile little hand reaches down to stroke his co—.

Holy shit. Arthur violently shakes his head, attempting to dislodge those vivid images. Where had they come from? One moment he's admiring Ariadne's talent, the next fighting off merciless extractors and then mentally stripping them out of their clothes so she can...thank him.

Arthur lets out a chuckle that's equal parts weary and frustrated. He's tired, he reasons to himself. He's sleep deprived. Traveling from Paris to South Africa to Tokyo and back to Paris within a span of four days would wreak havoc on even the most collected of minds. Managing the stress and worry of his current situation requires a Herculean effort, and admittedly, he's no Hercules.

He's just a guy who hasn't had sex in what's been longer than he would like to admit.

He really needs to get laid. Soon.

"Arthur?"

His head whips towards the warehouse doorway where Ariadne stands, a surprised look on her face. For a moment he wants to pull out his totem to make sure he isn't hallucinating and his sleep deprived brain didn't conjure her up to fulfill his last thought.

"Ariadne." Her name comes out sounding low and hoarse in the quiet of the warehouse.

It's only when he's certain he can't make her throw herself at him and start ripping off his clothes that he's convinced she isn't an illusion.

Or is she?

She continues to stand by the entrance, laying wide eyes on him. Time ticks by slowly before she finally does make her way over with what seem to be wary steps. Her cautious approach makes him think of her as a wide-eyed doe unsure if the tiger in her midst is a friend or foe. And the tiger in him, meanwhile, is nearly salivating over her very welcome appearance.

She's wearing her usual outfit of collared blouse, button-up vest, patterned silk scarf, snug fitting jeans, and ubiquitous red jacket. The last time they were together she had on a cute little dress and black tights, a look he found charming on her. But this familiarity makes him smile and realize that it doesn't matter what she's wearing, he's not going to get enough of the sight of her.

She appears to be looking him over as well and a soft smile of her own plays on her lips before she says, "You're back." After taking a couple steps closer, a look of concern crosses her face. "Is everything okay? You look…exhausted."

"I'm just a bit jet-lagged, is all."

"You look more than a bit jet-lagged." She steps up even closer and examines him with fascination. A hand tentatively reaches out and her fingers lightly graze his unshaven cheek. Her own cheeks flush lightly when she looks up at him and it's all he can do to not fall over at the adorable little smile she gives him, the same one he had been imagining only moments earlier.

There's nothing hesitant or tentative when he reaches up with his own hand to take a hold of hers.

Ariadne makes a move pull away, but he holds on firmly. She avoids his eyes, endearingly self-conscious while she tries to explain. "I—I wasn't sure if I was seeing things. I've never seen you so worn out and looking so…Eames-like." She risks a glance at him.

He gives a low chuckle. "And I've never been so flat out insulted by anyone other than Eames."

Her laugh is light and echoes in the warehouse. It's a sound that makes him smile and not worry if he looks completely goofy while doing it.

She's smiling back when she asks, "Where have you been? Cobb said you had to go out of town to do some research but he wouldn't give us any details. "

"I went to Johannesburg and Tokyo."

"You had to go all the way to Johannesburg and Tokyo?" Her eyebrows rise in surprise. "Why?"

Arthur hesitates, but only for a moment. He knows he can trust her. His instincts tell him he can. "Cobb and I had some suspicions about Saito's…activities. I had to check him out…without anyone, especially Saito, knowing. At first, we thought he went to South Africa. It wasn't until I was already there that I realized he was actually in Tokyo."

"Oh. Well, what did you find out? Is everything okay?" A little worry crease appears on her forehead that Arthur discovers he wants to soothe away.

"Yes, there's nothing to worry about. Saito went home to celebrate his son's birthday."

Ariadne nods and doesn't press further. Instead she smiles that soft smile that he's becoming addicted to and says, "Well, now I know why you look so exhausted. Johannesburg to Tokyo to Paris in four days is a rough schedule. I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," he says softly, for her ears only.

There's a hint of a blush on her cheeks before she takes a deep breath. "Arthur, I…" her eyes stray to the unbuttoned collar of his shirt before returning back to his, "I've m—."

"Ariadne! Why were you walking so fast? Don't tell me it was because Yusuf and I were teasing you about your love—Arthur! Is that you? I almost didn't recognize you there."

Eames and Yusuf enter, bringing noise and animation to the previously quiet warehouse. Ariadne jumps away at the sound of Eames' voice, snatching her hand out of Arthur's hold and placing both behind her back, looking as if she got caught with them in the proverbial cookie jar.

"Are we interrupting something?" Yusuf questions with a grin on his face.

"No. We were just…talking." She tries for nonchalant but she can't hide the heat rising in her cheeks.

Eames meanwhile, saunters over to Arthur. "You missed out on some damn fine tea and conversation this afternoon. What have you been up to? Obviously not shaving." He clasps one hand on one of Arthur's whiskered cheeks turning his face to better examine him. "It looks good on you."

Arthur slaps his hand away, silently cursing his and Yusuf's timing. He turns his focuse on Ariadne, who gives him a shy gaze before looking away, hoping what she left unspoken was going to match his own sentiments. It's only been four days, yet their separation makes him realize how much he's missed being near her.

Her presence now, however, is also making him wonder if their near kisses have been consuming her mind as they have his and if she's as disappointed as he is that they couldn't finish what they had started in his apartment the other night.

"It's such a shame!" Eames interrupts his musings.

"What is?" Arthur snaps his head towards the forger. Eames is good at reading people, but even he couldn't read thoughts. Not outside of a dream, anyway.

"It's a shame you weren't there. Ariadne missed you…at tea." He cheekily turns to Ariadne and cuts off any reply she is about to make.

"It just wasn't quite the same without you. Next time we'll have to plan it properly, so you can be there. Or you can plan it. You're rather good at that sort of thing. Just make a date—I mean pick a date." Arthur frowns at the forger who stands looking as innocent as a skilled thief and liar can. Ariadne is practically shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

"Eames—." Ariadne tries to interject the oncoming teasing, but Eames continues, undaunted.

"For a proper tea, of course." Eames walks over to one of the chairs set up in the middle of the room and takes a seat, leaning back on his linked hands, legs stretched out in front of him. "Unless you prefer luncheon? I _love_ lunch! Especially _picnic_ luncheons. Ariadne, you like them too, if I recall correctly; but not as much as spending a cozy evening at home with a home-cooked meal. Didn't you tell me that it's a turn-on of yours?" He gives her a not-so-sly wink that everybody catches and which makes her fume.

For his part, Arthur's amused by the forger's recognizable jabs at his attempts to impress and get to know Ariadne. She obviously told him about their time together on Saturday. But he isn't going to begrudge Eames for being her confidante; before his self-imposed separation of their personal lives Arthur often saw the two take lunch breaks or go out for the occasional drink. The 'old' Arthur, the one who forced himself to keep their relationship strictly professional, may have once been jealous of Eames and Ariadne's close relationship, but now he isn't bothered by it. Not when she's sporting a blush and has obviously been thinking about him while he was away. He finds himself profoundly happy.

"Isn't that a coincidence? I enjoy picnics and home cooked meals, as well." He gives Ariadne an encouraging smile to let her know that he knows what Eames is trying to do and is not upset.

She returns a hesitant but relieved smile of her own.

"Arthur, I've…" Ariadne pauses when she notices all eyes fixating on her. Eames shares a smirk with Yusuf. "I've…made a modification to your level that I think you should incorporate. Do you think we can go over it together?" She gives him hopeful look.

He nods. "We can do it now. I'll set up the device." If he's reading her correctly, then she wants to get him alone, and he can't help but want that too. But the only way it's going to happen at this point is in a dream.

And if Cobb doesn't step out of his office to foil their plans, which unfortunately is what he does.

"You're going under now?" He watches Arthur carry a PASIV over to a couple of lawn chairs.

He answers without looking up from the vials he's examining, trying to be quick. "Ariadne and I are going to go over my dream level."

"I've made a change to his design that I need to go over with him," Ariadne supplies helpfully.

"But we need to go over what Eames uncovered in Sydney."

"It'll take five minutes Cobb." That will give them about an hour alone. Maybe he should set it for ten. Saturday was so long ago. "Besides, Saito isn't even here yet." That should buy them some more time, especially since he's decided he wants at least fifteen minutes on the device.

But it turns out that he and Ariadne won't even have one minute alone. The businessman opts to walk through the door just as Arthur's about ready with the PASIV.

Shoulders slumping, he glances at Ariadne who gives him a small shrug. He hears a snicker from one of the lawn chairs.

"Saito, you're just in time." Cobb calls out.

"I make it a habit to always be where I need to, at the opportune moment. You should know that, Mr. Cobb," he says superciliously, strolling in as if he owns the place, which he in fact does.

Arthur wonders if it'd be inappropriate to tell Saito that his arrival is not an 'opportune moment' for him and Ariadne.

"Mr. Eames, you're back from Australia. Good. I'm interested to hear what new information you have on Robert Fischer."

"We are just about to go over that, I believe. _All of us_." Eames sends an amused look over at Arthur and Ariadne.

Cobb drags a chair over towards Arthur. "We'll go over it in Arthur's hotel. That way Ariadne can show him her modifications and it'll give us all the opportunity to see the hotel for ourselves."

The others all grab chairs of their own while Arthur, helpless to stop them from joining him and Ariadne, continues to arrange the device for six now, instead of two. He sets the dials and pulls out lines to distribute among the team members while everyone settles in their seats. He walks over to where Ariadne has stationed herself, noticing that the chair which has his coat and tie draped over it has been repositioned next to her own lawn chair.

Bending down he takes the IV from her hand and gently takes her other arm to swab the delicate skin at her wrist. He hasn't prepared her for dreaming like this since their first training session together and if any of the others think that strange, it's not mentioned.

Before Arthur can place the needle into her wrist, Ariadne stops his hand to whisper, "The west elevator bank. The change I made is to one of those elevators."

The west elevator bank is fashioned for access to the luxury suites. It's secluded and private, making it unlikely that the rest of the team will wander that way. Smiling, he gently rubs the spot above her wrist before bringing the sharp point of the needle to her skin.

"Thank you, Arthur. I'm sure that won't leave a bruise," she says aloud.

He pushes the button to release her dose of Somnacin. Ariadne smiles softly before drifting off to sleep, just missing Eames calling Arthur over, proclaiming his need for the same gentle touch in inserting his IV.


	13. The Heart Has Its Reasons

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter13 rating: R for language and adult themes

* * *

Chapter 13: The Heart Has Its Reasons

One by one the team enters the dreamscape, congregating by the shallow steps that lead to the hotel's lower level concierge. Ariadne watches as they take a moment to marvel at her design, taking notice of the sleek and modern interior of the hotel. With the team occupied thus, she takes this opportunity to do some of her own examining—of her blatant attraction to the point man.

This revelation isn't new. She isn't foolish enough to think that some measure of attraction hasn't always been there, but what is surprising is just how strong it has become. Her reaction to seeing Arthur in the dusty space of the warehouse seemed to highlight just how strong. She had felt something akin to a jump-start to her heart with that first glimpse of him. And then the sensations came, overwhelming her all at once: her body hummed with energy, every limb tingled with awareness, her pulse raced, her temperature spiked and her mouth went dry. It was like her whole body fully awakened and got pulled out from a dull and dreary stupor. She felt drawn to Arthur, had wanted to go up to him and stand close—get sucked in. But something initially held her back. Perhaps it was a vulnerability to the candidness of her feelings. Or maybe it was a wariness of being betrayed by her body in a more tangible way in front of him without knowing how he felt about her.

Whatever it was, didn't stop her from noticing how un-Arthur-like he looked. The sharp and defined edges she'd come to associate with him were blunted by an aura of weariness and fatigue. His smooth polish and neat veneer had disappeared to leave behind only a rough outline of the man she knew. It was a little unsettling to see him in such a state, yet still she was drawn to him, captivated by these new facets of his appearance, so much so that she couldn't help a curious hand confirming the several days' worth of whiskers on his face. He smiled then and took her hand in his and held on to it, not letting her go. And when she tried teasing him about his 'unkempt' appearance he easily countered back in the same teasing way they engaged in during their day together. It was all she could do to not throw herself into him and tell him how much she missed him and how she's never felt so keenly this intense fascination and attraction for anyone before.

"This is quite impressive—and familiar, as if I have done business here before." It's Saito who comments and interrupts her thoughts. He has walked down the steps of the staircase to the middle seating area where she's been waiting. "It will be perfect for Mr. Fischer." He catches her glance and nods in approval.

The others all arrive in short order, gathering around her.

"You have good tastes." Yusuf admires the furniture scattered throughout the lobby. "I like the bamboo." He examines the potted bamboo stalks cut at identical lengths placed by the side of one of the couches.

"Thanks." She smiles at Yusuf's admiration.

"Ariadne does have good taste. They're quite similar to Arthur's here, actually," Eames pronounces, perching on the arm of one the couches. Turning, he addresses Arthur directly. "I have to wonder how she was able to create something so tailor-made for you. This hotel reminds me of one of your bespoke suits. It's as if Ariadne stripped you down naked, took measure of you herself, and fitted you quite flatteringly with this dream hotel."

Ignoring Eames' suggestive remark, Arthur addresses the team in general when he says, "Ariadne's extremely talented. She's been working very hard on all our levels, making them as believable as possible. For everyone's dreams, not just mine."

The others agree with nods and Ariadne beams a smug smile over at Eames, immensely pleased by Arthur's praise and acknowledgement for her dedication to the intricacies of the levels, in front of the team, no less.

"And don't forget all the time she spent in your company, making the many changes you _demanded_ Eames."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Mine's quite the thing." Eames agrees readily with Arthur, but not without his trademark smirk.

"Ariadne, why don't you go show Arthur your modifications? You two can meet us back here in say, half an hour?" With that said, Cobb dismisses her and Arthur before they can even agree to this plan, walking down the remaining steps with the rest of the team to continue exploring.

It doesn't escape her notice that he's the only one who doesn't comment on her design. She tries not to be let down by his lack of commentary regarding the hotel, but fails. Aside from Stephen and Arthur, Cobb's opinion on her construction and creativity in building really mattered to her. He was the only one on the team with any formal training in architecture, yet he continued to remain silent on her designs, leaving it up to the others to provide critiques. Not that what the others thought meant less, it just would have been nice to hear another true architect's opinion.

"Are you ready?"

Arthur's question calls her back to the present and she turns to him, hiding her disappointment. He has come up close, standing with his hands in the same coat she had noticed draped over his chair in the warehouse. It's not the only thing different about his appearance. He's changed so that he no longer looks worn-out or disheveled: his tie is in place with a precise knot, his shirt and pants look just pressed, and his face is clean-shaven with no hints of fatigue.

"It appears you are," she smiles and continues when he raises his brow in question. "Do you always have to be so neat and polished when you're dreaming?" Unable to resist she cups a hand on his face and lets her thumb sweep across his now smooth cheek. "I kind of liked the scruff."

Her gentle assault on his face gives him an excuse to take hold of her curious hand, just as he'd done earlier. "Do you? More so than you like the neat and polished look? Because I think I know how much you _really_ like that look." He gives her a wicked smile.

She tries to fight off the heated blush of her own cheeks. Arthur just laughs.

Continuing to hold onto her hand he guides her towards the west bank of elevators while elaborating on his dress style. "I've always seen the suits as a type of uniform for the job. When I'm in a dream, I'm working, so I'm dressed accordingly."

She looks up at his profile as they continue to walk, stopping when they reach the little alcove where the elevators are located. "You always seem to be in uniform, even outside of the dream."

"I work outside of the dream, too; but if you're wondering, there are times when I'm not wearing a suit."

Ariadne reaches out to press the button, opening the elevator door.

"Such as?"

"Such as when I'm naked," is his mater-of-fact reply.

Oh. Why did he have to say _that_?

"What are you doing?"

She's squeezing her eyes shut and refusing to move. "Did I…you're not…?" she trails, eyes still tightly closed. "Oh, god, this isn't working!"

"Araidne, you're going to want to open your eyes." Even though she can't see him she can hear the amusement in Arthur's voice.

She slowly opens one eye, and then in obvious relief, opens the other. "Oh, you're not…" She halts midsentence.

He has a huge shit-eating grin on his face. "My clothes aren't going to disappear, if that's what you're worried about. Or maybe you're disappointed they won't?"

She's frozen for a couple of seconds, not sure if she is disappointed or not. Arthur's grin reaches Cheshire cat proportions.

"I—I—I was trying…I—I thought if…I—I wasn't…"

He's somewhat successful holding back his laughter while he assures her that she can't control his appearance in a dream.

She wishes she can control the furious blush on her cheeks.

"But that doesn't mean _I_ couldn't make them disappear, if you wanted, unless…you prefer what you were seeing behind your eyes?"

Her face feels like it's on fire—as if she couldn't be more embarrassed! Meanwhile, Arthur, the scoundrel, continues to laugh. Mortified, she yanks her hand out of his grasp, briskly entering the elevator and punching a button to activate the doors to close.

"Ariadne, wait!" Arthur barely squeezes through the closing doors. "Ariadne, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh." She's not convinced of his sincerity; he's still laughing. Crossing her arms protectively around herself she turns away from him, too embarrassed to face him.

"Ariadne." He finally collects himself. "Ariadne, come on." She pushes a button to start the elevator's ascent refusing to turn to him. He moves to stand in front of her, placing both hands on her upper arms to keep her from turning the other way. "Ariadne, I'm sorry. I was just teasing you. Look at me." It's a gentle command but when she doesn't budge he reaches up to bring her reluctant face towards his. His eyes, still shining with amusement, search hers. He doesn't resist when she turns her head away. He drops his hands from her shoulders. "Ariadne, I'm sorry. I just thought…it's just...after last Saturday…well, I thought we both had a good time." The uncertainty she hears in his voice is so unlike him that when she finally looks up, she witnesses the same uncertainty clouding his eyes.

"I did have a good time." She says softly, staring at one of his shirt buttons.

A slight smile breaks through on his face. "I'm glad I wasn't the only one."

She looks up at him through her lashes. His smile widens.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you. You just make it so easy for me to…laugh and smile—to relax. But maybe you make it a little too easy. I can't help myself when I'm with you. I'm finding I like seeing your cheeks flush and that endearing little smile that spreads across your face when I do tease you. Like what you're doing right now."

His confession prompts a slow, shy smile from her.

"I've missed seeing that smile. In fact," his face turns serious, "Ariadne…these past four days while I've been away…I couldn't stop thinking about that smile…or you…I've—I've missed being with you."

A rush of adrenaline shoots through her body and she can feel her heartbeat accelerate. But before she can manage a verbal response to his confession the elevator abruptly drops down several floors before stopping, causing her to lose her balance and fall against Arthur. He stabilizes himself in time to keep them both from falling but then, just as suddenly, the elevator jerks upwards, its momentum steady and noticeably faster than it was before the stop. Arthur isn't prepared this time for the new unexpected movement and the two fall to the ground in a heap with Ariadne right on top of him.

"Are you alright?"

Ariadne props her arms up onto Arthur's chest, breathing rapidly from the new adrenaline rush. She nods her head in answer to Arthur's question. He's the one who took the brunt of the fall.

"What about you? Are you hurt?" She looks for signs of injury.

"I'm okay. This isn't part of your design, is it?" There's humor in his question.

With a baffled look, she answers no, occupied with trying to make sense of the odd fluctuations of the elevator.

It's not until he reaches up to gently push a strand of hair out of her face that she becomes acutely aware of their bodies pressed firmly together. His other hand is resting at her hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on a vulnerable spot there. Her breath hitches at the sensations he's creating and once again the elevator drops before surging upward with renewed momentum.

This time she's able to scramble up as quickly as she can, extricating herself from him. Her heart is beating a mile a minute but it's hard to tell if it's from the elevator or Arthur's touch.

A soft ding signals their chance for escape and Ariadne gratefully steps out into the hallway. She's slightly shaky, still recovering from the second burst of adrenaline from that second drop. Or is it from the feel of Arthur's fingers on her hip?

"Well, that was quite a ride, wasn't it? I think you may have forgotten the emergency brakes." Arthur comes up behind her with humor still in his voice, but his smile falters when he sees her try to suppress a shiver.

"Are you okay?" When she doesn't answer Arthur reaches out to grasp her shoulder, bending his head down to look into her eyes. Whatever he sees there causes him to slowly pull her into his embrace. She offers no resistance but instead buries her face into his shirt, avoiding his eyes and inhaling his comforting scent while he rubs a soothing hand over her back. "You're okay. Nothing bad can happen to you here. This is just a dream."

His voice is gentler, much more reassuring than the first time he'd tried to comfort her after she woke up from Mal stabbing her in a dream. But his words don't offer much comfort because despite his assurances of this being just a dream, she's starting to piece together and suspect that the erratic motions of the elevator are the dream's translations of her own erratic heart responding to Arthur's confession.

At least, that's what she thinks may have caused the elevator to turn into a wayward ride. What else could explain it?

She manipulates the dream with her mind, guides it by principles of logic and reason that she knows to be true. But she also knows that there are things that cannot be controlled during the dream, like involuntary physical responses—those functioned within the realm of the subconscious and are motivated by the strength of one's emotions or feelings, or wants and desires.

And it's her desire for Arthur that can no longer be denied. Her reaction to his confession and what happened after the free-fall in the elevator—both those heartbeat altering events directly preceded the elevator's decision to become an adrenaline-filled carnival ride complete with sudden stops, heart-in-the-stomach drops, and exhilarating upward shifts in momentum.

Could her feelings for Arthur be any more obvious?

"Ariadne?" The sound of her name is tentative but breaks her out of her contemplations. She's been silent for quite a long time and Arthur must be worried that she may have become traumatized by all this.

But what if he's figured all this out too? How could he not? He understands the nature of dreams. And if he has come to the same conclusion as she has, how can she face him now, knowing he experienced first-hand the stirrings of her heart? What will he think or say? He had just confessed to missing her, but what did that really mean? Did he mean he missed seeing her and hanging out with her, just as friends? Or like her, did he think about her constantly and wait for her impatiently while he was away?

She can't verbally reciprocate his confession—whether or not he knows her true feelings, but especially if he does. Instead, she allows him to resume his comforting, keeping her face hidden against his shirt. She'll wait for him to say or do something, anything that will tell her how to proceed.

Meanwhile, Arthur continues the slow caress of his hand on her back. Through the fine fabric of his shirt, she can feel his body heat engulfing her as closely as his own embrace. The pulsating beat of his heart is strong and steady, almost hypnotic, like the rhythmic beating of a drum. Without thought, she presses herself closer, trying to absorb the sound.

If she hadn't been so close and so aware, she never would have felt the brief, irregular cadence of his heart, followed by the faster pace of its rhythm.

Instinctively, she knows this is the sign she's been waiting for.

Lifting her head from his chest, she swallows once and locks eyes with his now concerned ones, and whispers, "Arthur, I've missed you too."

If she wasn't sure before, she's absolutely and completely certain now by what Arthur meant by his confession. That is, if his eyes turning into dark pools of desire and the all-out sexy grin spreading across his handsome face are any indication.

When he tightens his hold around her, she brings her arms out from between them to loop around his back.

"Is this another invitation?" he teases in a deep, spine-tingling voice.

She shivers from the sound and swallows again. Unable to speak just then, she nods quickly.

"If I recall correctly, I accepted the last one but we were interrupted before you could make good on it."

She nods again, finding her voice this time. "This is the same invitation." Her words sound husky to her ears.

"I love these invitations of yours," he whispers bringing his lips down to hers.

They're startled by the harsh ring of his cell phone before they can touch and satisfy the deep yearning she's feeling inside.

"Goddammit! Fucking Cobb and his fucking timing!" Arthur releases her and runs a frustrated hand over his hair. With a sigh he pulls his cell phone out.

Despite her own frustration his profane outburst makes her laugh.

"Hello?" Arthur's tone is brusque as he answers his phone. "No, not yet. We're upstairs. We need a few more minutes. Yeah, well, we'll be down when we're ready." He ends the phone call, staring daggers at the offending device before jamming it back into his coat pocket.

Ariadne looks down at her watch and sees that they've been gone almost thirty minutes. She sighs, resigned with the moment being lost, but gives him an amused smile and a poke in the chest. "You need to be quicker about kissing me or it may never happen."

Arthur grumbles which makes her laugh again. Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck he shakes his head but finally gives in to amusement, laughing as she lets him take her hand and entwine their fingers together, bringing her close. He pushes the button to open the elevator doors and they step inside. He releases a big sigh before saying, "It's just as well, I suppose. As much as we want this to happen, we should probably wait until we're both conscious."

"What do you mean? If we kiss here, would it even count—I mean, would it be real?" She looks to him with concern. She doesn't think she'll be satisfied with a fantasy kiss. She's daydreamed a few of those already—she wants the real thing.

"Of course it would be real," he assures, looking down at her with an affectionate smile. "Could it be anything less between us?"

"Oh." Not very eloquent, but he's left her inarticulate. Just one of the many effects he's had on her today. She's not sure she's going to survive this dream, and they weren't even dealing with projections.

"Alright, so what's the modification you made to this elevator?" Arthur asks, in a less swoon-inducing and more business-like tone. "It's not the missing emergency brakes, is it?"

She keeps silent, concentrating all her efforts on mentally resisting him. It requires all her mental energy and resolve.

"Ariadne, the elevator?" He raises one brow, a knowing smirk appearing on his face.

That damn smirk!

"These mirrors," she talks quickly, pointing to the glass mirrors on either side of the elevator. She needs to distract herself…badly. "They create an illusion, see? The mirrors reflect on each other, giving the illusion of depth. I was inspired to add this after what happened my first time designing a dream with Cobb. We had come to a dead end while I was rearranging the dream but then I had a sudden idea and I set up two mirrors that I anchored with pillars. When they reflected off each other—voilà, I recreated the Pont de Bir-Hakeim. Which is what I've done here in the elevator, see? Not recreate the Pont de Bir-Hakeim, obviously, but I've created a hallway."

She can tell that Arthur's amused by her distraction technique, but he refrains from commenting. Instead, he intently studies the recursive sequence of patterns displayed before him on one side of the elevator. The back of the elevator supports a single light fixture and is designed specifically so that when viewed in one of the mirrors, an illusion of a hallway appears.

Letting go of her hand, he walks up to one of the mirrors and sticks his hand out to touch the glass. She eagerly watches his reaction as he pulls his hand back when the glass disintegrates. He's clearly surprised when it doesn't leave behind shards of broken glass. The mirrored wall of the elevator is gone and before him is a standard hallway like any one of those found throughout the hotel. Cautiously, he steps forward with her following along beside him. They're now on a carpeted hallway with the elevator no longer in sight.

"You outdid yourself here. This is amazing."

"Thank you." She knows that he's not easily impressed and she's inordinately happy that he's _twice_ made it known that he is with her. "It's just another way to disguise the boundaries of the dream, like you taught me. You already have the Penrose steps in place in the fire escape, and hopefully you won't need this, but I thought I'd give you another escape route anyway, in case the projections get too hostile. This hallway will loop you back to the main elevators."

He takes her hand and they walk down the hall. Arthur examines every detail from the light fixtures, the door handles, the paintings, even the fire extinguishers. They even stop to open one of the hotel rooms and he smiles when he finds that it's fully and appropriately appointed. "Nicely done. You've thought of everything." They continue walking until they reach the elevators. "Thank you for designing it for me. It's kind of nice having someone watch my back every once in a while."

"You're welcome. I just want to help you be safe from the projections."

He smiles and gives her hand a squeeze.

When the elevator arrives and they step in, he pushes the button for the lobby floor before turning to her with a serious expression and a surprising question. "You know that Cobb thinks your designs are impressive, right?"

She's caught off guard by this sudden turn of conversation that she doesn't know what to say and ends up lying. "Yeah, I know."

Arthur studies her carefully, weighing his next words. "Do you? He didn't say anything earlier when we were all in the lobby; or when we went into Yusuf's level several days ago. And as far as I know he's never said anything regarding your displays or sketches." Arthur's right, but she hadn't realized he knew so much about that. "He has taken notice, Ariadne, believe me. He thinks you're extremely talented and have a bright future ahead of you, in both dream and real architecture."

"He does?"

"Yes." He looks at her intently. "We both do." The elevator stops, opening to the lobby.

Before he can release her hand, to maintain the appearance of professionalism that he's so big on, she restrains him and asks, "Why are you telling me this Arthur?"

He looks down at their joined hands and says, "Because it's the truth." His thumb gently rubs the skin at her wrist. "And you should know how remarkable you are." Before she can say anything else he's releasing her and stepping out of the elevator.

She follows him out, sticking her hands in her pockets to restrain them from reaching out to him and kissing him senseless in front of everyone. It would shatter the appearance of professionalism, she tells herself.

They come into view of everyone from their positions on the lobby steps. They're discussing possible situations to put Fischer under. She and Arthur, through silent agreement, take their time getting back.

"You know, I believe you owe me a dinner."

Arthur stops and turns to look at her, clearly surprised by her quiet matter-of-fact statement. She smiles up at him and a slow smile of his own appears. "You know, I believe I do. How about I cook for you tonight?"

"How about tomorrow night?"

"What's wrong with tonight?"

She stifles her laugh but not her grin when he looks at her dejectedly. She's about to reach out to playfully tug on his tie and assure him she wants to be with him tonight more than anything, but catches herself in time. A quick look towards the team shows Eames giving her a slight smirk, letting her know he caught her actions. Luckily, no one else seems to have noticed.

Putting a respectable amount of space between them she continues walking and says, "Arthur, you need your rest. You don't look like this up above, remember? You look more like a tired—."

"Don't even say it." Arthur warns.

She allows herself a quiet laugh this time. "Okay, fine. You don't look like a tired version of a certain forger. But you do look exhausted." And then, because she's decided she has nothing to lose, she gives him her most suggestive smile. "It's just that I need you well rested because I plan on keeping your hands busy with my appetite."

They're getting to within earshot of the team so Arthur whispers, "Really? Should I be planning five courses?"

"No, just four. I'll take care of dessert."

That stops him in his tracks and she gives him another blatant, suggestive smile.

What she wouldn't give to be alone with him right now with such a hungry and eager look in his eyes.

"You know, I'm pretty sure I can rally tonight. I'm really not that tired."

Ariadne bites her bottom lip to prevent the laughter from escaping her mouth. She faces the team once again and continues walking. "Tomorrow, Arthur." Just before they can be overheard by the team she pauses, looking him directly in the eyes. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

Once unleashed, the little minx inside her can't help herself.

He gives her one more intense look before surprising her by nonchalantly jumping into the teams' ongoing conversation. "It'd have to be a 747."

"Why?" Cobb asks.

"On a 747 the pilots are up above, first class is in the nose so nobody walks through the cabin. But we'd have to buy out the whole cabin, and the first class flight attendant—."

"I bought the airline."

There's a momentary pause of astonishment after Saito declares buying a multibillion dollar business with as much nonchalance as saying he just purchased a new pair of shoes.

"It seemed neater."

No one can argue with that.

"It looks like we have our ten hours." Cobb shoots the tourist an amused expression. And then, quite surprisingly, he turns to her and gestures to the hotel. "Ariadne, terrific work by the way." He starts walking up the lobby steps with the others following suit.

In her excitement she immediately turns to Arthur. He gives her a smug smile. She tries her best not to beam back but is unsuccessful.

It's not until the rest of the group has topped the steps that Arthur leans in to whisper, "And just to warn you, I'll be holding you to your promise."

They continue walking up the stairs and once again Ariadne is forced to restrain her hands by placing them inside her pockets.

Arthur, she notices, is doing the same.


	14. Necessary Measures

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter14 rating: PG

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Chapter 14: Necessary Measures

The bright fluorescent lights flooding the main space of the warehouse cast a harsh glow over the two tense figures in the corner.

Ariadne and Cobb look over and see Saito and Arthur approach. The two men inform them that Maurice Fischer just died and they need to leave for Sydney as soon as possible.

Instinctively, Ariadne knows that she needs to go with them.

But Cobb shakes his head. "I promised Miles. No."

He doesn't sound or look completely against it, which gives her hope. "The team needs someone who understands what you're struggling with."

When Cobb remains reluctant to agree, she gives him an alternative. "It doesn't have to be me, but then you have to show Arthur what I just saw."

Cobb glances up at Arthur but doesn't consent to that suggestion either. Instead, he looks back at her, quickly weighing a decision in his mind. When he finally answers he raises his voice to be heard by the others.

"Get us another seat on the plane."

Though she was hoping for them, the words sound like an ominous final verdict echoing in the quiet warehouse. Ariadne watches him move away from her to join Saito and Arthur. She leaves the three men to their conference on the other side of the room and tries to sort through what she just witnessed.

She hadn't planned on joining Cobb in one of his nightly 'experiments', but tonight her curiosity got the best of her. Despite not knowing what exactly to expect, encountering regret laden memories involving his dead wife didn't come as a complete surprise. Ever since their earlier dream share experience she had suspected that Mal was the reason behind the quiet desperation lying just beneath his surface.

And she was right. Mal is the reason why Cobb spends his nights hooking up to a machine. He was revisiting memories, he had told her—moments he regrets.

But he had also told her never to use memories in dreams, that doing so is the surest way to lose track of what's real and what isn't.

After what she observed tonight, it's clear that something had happened that made him chose to forget his own advice. Whatever it is drives him to keep Mal alive night after night, trapped in a prison of memories; he believes that by revisiting these past moments in dreams he can atone for his mistakes and absolve himself of whatever regrets haunt him.

It's not a bad idea, confronting the past to overcome the present. Only in Cobb's case it isn't working because he wants to change the past, and no one can do that, even in dreams. Instead of coming to terms with whatever happened, what he's really been doing is torturing himself. And the sad thing is, at some level, Cobb knows this. His subconscious warns him time and again in the form of a pained and angry wife whose frustration mirrors his own.

With these thoughts in mind Ariadne seeks out the extractor on the other side of the room. He's quietly talking with Arthur and Saito, the gravity of what they're discussing apparent in their expressions. But Cobb, she thinks, looks more worried than the others. His mouth is set in a grim line, his eyes are intense, and his stance is rigid. A lot is riding on the success of this job: his children, his happiness, and probably even his sanity. The least she can do is help him keep focused enough to reach those goals.

Deciding she should join the conversation, she gets out of her chair and walks towards them. Cobb says something to Arthur, who's writing things down in his notebook. Arthur nods and agrees with Cobb without looking up.

"Saito and I are going to make some arrangements," he tells her when she reaches the trio. "Arthur will get you up to speed." Without further acknowledgement he and Saito head out of the warehouse together.

She watches the two men exit before turning her attention to Arthur, who continues to write in his notebook. She notices that he's changed his clothes and shaved since leaving several hours ago. Despite what his clothing might suggest however, she's pretty sure he hasn't gotten any sleep since he left.

"I didn't know you wanted to come along." Arthur doesn't look up from his book when he says this.

She hadn't wanted to, initially, and the team had always been under the impression that she wouldn't be joining them. Cobb never made any promises to that effect when he told her what would be expected of her as architect, and she strangely enough didn't have an overwhelming curiosity to see the rest of the team put forth their plan in action. For her, it's always been about limitless creation and expanding the boundaries of imagination.

But without Cobb she never would have been introduced to those concepts. He's the reason she's here and ultimately, why she's joining them now.

Except, he apparently didn't want anyone to know she was coming along to keep an eye on him. This secrecy puts her in a tricky spot because she doesn't want to lie to Arthur, but she also can't tell him the truth outright.

When she doesn't answer right away, Arthur looks up at her with an expression she would describe as carefully neutral. With his eyes focused on her now, she can clearly see the fatigue in them. Seeing him this…vulnerable, her heart instinctively goes out to him. They've only known each other for a short while, but already she's come to care about him more than just as a friend. The thing building between them isn't finished, and if he leaves for Los Angeles without her…well, what happens to them then? Not that she knows what would happen between them if she does go with them, but at least they'd be together for a while longer…

Perhaps Cobb isn't the only reason she's coming along after all.

But that's not what she tells him.

"I didn't know myself. But now that the opportunity is here, I realize that...I'd like to see my creations in action, so to speak." She isn't lying in that. It would be interesting to see if her designs were good enough to fool Fischer. "And who knows," she smiles up at him, "if all goes well and I really am as good as you've all said I am, I might consider making a name for myself in the dream share world."

Her confession seems to surprise him. "Is that what you want, to work in dreams?"

There's more in his eyes than just curiosity; there's an intensity there as well. For some reason, it makes her heart beat a little faster. "Uh, well, I'm not sure, actually. I…it's just a thought." And one that is not totally unappealing. "I'm still planning on finishing my degree. I'm almost done. But I can't deny that there's something really thrilling about knowing that the only thing that limits me in dreams is my own imagination. And I like seeing something I've created come to life in an instant. Real world architecture doesn't offer that same satisfaction."

When Arthur doesn't say anything, she continues. "And I thought, well, since you said—Cobb said I could be really good at it that maybe it could be an option for me."

Arthur nods, stepping closer to her. "I believe it can be an option for you, if you think that's what you want."

She moves in closer as well and looks up at him. His face, even when weary, is still breathtakingly handsome. She reaches out to finger the opening of his coat, and with her heart in her eyes, says, "It's what I want."

He visibly swallows once before he takes hold of her hand on his coat, his expression turning serious. "If you think this is something you want to do in the future then I think you need to understand something." He looks down at their joined hands for a moment, seeming to contemplate the right words to say. "What you're going to see when we're down there in the dreams, it's all just part of the job. We're going to be different people while we're working; we have to be, sometimes. We have to do what's necessary to get the job done."

"I know Arthur. And I understand that kidnapping and undermining powerful corporations isn't something you do on a daily basis. I don't think any less of you because you have to do those things in a dream."

He doesn't smile at her teasing tone, but instead continues in a serious one of his own. "You also need to understand that things could get dangerous, especially since we're going down so deep. If it's necessary, I—we may have to…wake you up."

At this, Ariadne frowns. She can't let that happen. She's supposed to keep Cobb out of trouble.

Shaking her head, she simply tells him, "No."

Arthur is obviously surprised by her calm, outright defiance and is silent for a beat before he says, "That wasn't a suggestion."

She takes a moment to gather her own thoughts, turning serious eyes on him. She doesn't want to come off sounding like a petulant child, but neither can she let him think that he can just dictate her presence in the dream. "I don't need you to spare me just because you think I won't be able to handle what I see down there. I can take care of myself—." He starts to protest but she squeezes his hand and cuts him off. "Really, Arthur, I can. And I promise I won't get in the way." He looks to relent, but she continues. "Besides, according to the plans you guys have in place, you're going to have your hands full. You don't need to add worrying about me to your duties, especially when you already have so many things to oversee."

Instead of arguing with her as she had anticipated, he reaches out with his free hand to tenderly brush a lock of her hair away, much like he had earlier in her dream. He lets his hand stay there by her ear for just a moment before his fingertips come down, grazing her cheek.

"That's the thing. I don't think I'll be able to stop worrying about you."

Her intake of breath is as involuntary as her leaning into his touch is not.

"I'll be—."

"I'm not trying to convince you not to come," he interrupts her this time, "that's not up to me. But you can't tell me not to worry about you. That's my decision."

"Arthur…"

He continues, his voice gentle. "Dying in dreams isn't fun, you know that already. But suffering in them is worse and if Fischer starts to suspect anything his projections will get hostile, or violent. I'm sure you can take care of yourself, and if I can prevent them from getting to you, I will. It's just that…anything can happen down there and I'd hate to see you get hurt, even if it is just a dream."

She's swallows, ridiculously glad they're not in an elevator dreaming because it probably would have exploded given how much her heart swelled just now. She isn't foolish enough to think that he's exaggerating the potential dangers of the dreams, but his genuine concern for her safety is touching all the same.

"Do you always worry so much before a job?" She asks softly, a gentle smile on her lips. "It's not good for your health."

"Not usually, no. But this job is different." His hand reaches out to take her other one so now they're holding on to both hands. "And if you're so worried about my health then promise me you'll stay close to me or Cobb while we're under."

Deciding not to put up further resistance for something she's planning on doing anyway, she obliges him. "I promise. And just so you know, I've got your back too. I don't want to see you get hurt either."

"I know. You designed that amazing level for me." She smiles as he gives her hands a brief squeeze before letting them go.

He didn't know the half of it.

She's disappointed at the loss of contact, but she can tell he has a lot on his mind. He goes into full point man mode, pulling out his notebook and listing off things that need to be taken care of before they leave for Sydney.

"We still have a lot of stuff to do. Eames and Yusuf should be here any minute to help us out though. We have to clear this place out, make it look like we were never here." He gestures to their boards tacked with strategies. "That means we have to get rid of all these notes and Yusuf will have to pack up all his equipment." He pauses to look at her, almost sympathetically. "We also have to dispose of your models."

"Oh." She takes a look at the tables filled with her designs and feels some measure of sadness that they were going to have to be destroyed. But when she thinks about it further she knows she'll be seeing them again soon, come to life in dreams.

She shrugs. "We have to do what we have to do, right?"

He smiles down at her. "These paper and foam models will be nothing compared to the worlds we'll create in the dream, worlds that only an architect as talented as you can help us pull off."

She beams from ear to ear and reaches out to finger the opening of his coat again. "How is it possible you can still look so damn handsome _and_ know all the right things to say when you've got to be dead tired?"

Covering her hand with his again, he leans down to seductively whisper, "It's like a told you earlier, I can rally. You should have believed me when I said so."

She shivers, thoughts of what could have been infiltrating her mind.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? A little play time before game time?"

Eames and Yusuf enter the warehouse, completing Ariadne's sense of déjà vu.

Just like earlier today, at Eames' teasing she moves to take a step away from Arthur; only this time she's held in place by his hand still clasped to hers. She looks up, surprise crossing her face when Arthur gives her a wink—a wink in front of Eames and Yusuf!—before releasing her hand. Her shock eventually turns into a wide grin that remains on her face even when she hears the clearing of a throat from the direction of the forger and the chemist. Turning to them, she graces them with her beaming smile.

"Uh, right then. So…Arthur, you did call us here because Fischer Senior passed away, yeah?" Yusuf asks, awkwardly embarrassed and confused with her and Arthur's display.

As if he didn't just _wink_ at her, Arthur goes back into full point man mode, referencing his notebook. "Yes, like I told you on the phone, he passed away this morning in Sydney. Saito's making our flight arrangements now. He'll get back to us to let us know when we'll be able to fly out."

"What's the time table on this thing?" Eames asks, noticeably refraining from commenting on Arthur's wink.

Arthur winked at her, in front of Eames and Yusuf, no less! She still can't believe it.

"Maurice Fischer's funeral is set for next Thursday in Los Angeles. Robert Fischer will accompany his father's body no later than Tuesday, possibly sooner."

"Doesn't give us a lot of time. What do we need to do?" There's an efficiency and seriousness in Eames' tone she's never heard before.

Arthur checks his notebook again. "We need to sweep this place. Yusuf, you've got to pack everything up. We dispose of Ariadne's models and designs, as well as all the other evidence of our plans. This place has to look like we've never been here. I'll take care of the PASIV and its transportation onto the plane. And we'll all need to make arrangements for Sydney and Los Angeles. It would be best if we all weren't staying in the same hotels."

"Who's watching Robert Fischer in Sydney?"

"Saito has a mole at his house."

"Of course he does." Eames shakes his head. "Communication?"

"Cobb is taking care of the disposable cell phones."

Eames nods. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, I need you to get Ariadne a fake passport." Turning to her, he adds, "I'm going to set you up with an untraceable account. You'll use that for any expenses you need to make, including booking your hotels."

"Is that really necessary?" she asks.

They have a lot more experience in procuring fake passports and setting up untraceable accounts then she does, but she's almost certain that doing these things are not that simple and require a lot more time and effort than Arthur is letting on.

She looks to all three men for confirmation. Yusuf just shrugs while Arthur nods, making more notations in his notebook. Eames, she notices, is frowning at Arthur.

"I'm glad you're coming along with us." Yusuf says.

She watches Eames pull Arthur aside for a private conference.

"Uh, yeah. I decided I couldn't let you boys have all the fun."

"Now there'll be someone in the field with less experience than me." Yusuf smiles, teasing her.

"I'm glad I can be there to soothe your fragile ego," she says distractedly, as she observes Eames shake his head at something Arthur says. The two men part shortly after, with Eames heading to Yusuf's workstation and Arthur walking towards them.

"We better get to work." Arthur says. Yusuf nods and joins Eames.

"Is everything okay?" She reaches out to touch his arm, sensing a tension in him that she suspects has something to do with his conversation with Eames.

After a few seconds however, the tension is gone and he smiles, like her concern is all for nothing.

"Yeah, it is. Now, come on. We have a lot of work to do."


	15. The Only Exception

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter15 rating: PG-13 (language)

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**Chapter 15: The Only Exception**

Ariadne lies in bed awake in her Sydney hotel, her mind a jungle of thoughts. The two legs of her trip from Paris to Sydney, including the time change, should have tuckered her out, but instead she's wide awake. She finds herself too excited and nervous to sleep, though the anticipation and anxiety have nothing to do with the job tomorrow and everything to do with Arthur and wondering what will happen between them after they finish the job.

Arthur. He's all she can seem to think about and no matter how hard she tries, she can't help herself. If she didn't know any better she might think he incepted her mind, planting the idea of them together in her head. But that's a ridiculous thought, one that makes her chuckle out loud in her quiet hotel room. She doesn't need an inception or any other reason, for that matter, to keep the point man in her thoughts. He's been in them almost nonstop since before they even left Paris. And through the constant contemplation—as well as the occasional image of him in various states of dress and undress—she's come to the conclusion that she's never met anyone else quite like him.

Sure, Arthur is easily one of the handsomest men she's ever had the privilege to know, and he has an exceptional sense of style, but physical appearance aside, he's also more worldly and sophisticated than any of the guys she's met, or ever dated. His intelligence and hard-working ethic would be apparent even to a casual observer. His confidence may border on arrogance, but it's probably warranted given the things he's accomplished; and that criminal element aside, there are also honorable and considerate facets to him as well. She'd never question his loyalty to his friends—she's certain Cobb could testify to that—and it's obvious from what he's told her about his relationship with Mal and his own family that he cares for those close to him. She herself has been a recipient of his considerate nature, when, despite her arguments to the contrary, he procured for her the fake passport and offshore account he told her were absolute necessities. And he did it all selflessly, silently paying the price for those gestures by compounding his earlier accumulation of sleep deprivation with this extra sleep loss.

Though she has to admit and rather selfishly too, that his sacrifice presented an added benefit to her when he fell asleep with his head on her shoulder during most of the plane ride from Paris to Singapore.

Ariadne sighs with that last thought before a secret smile makes its way onto her lips. She's hoping that won't be the last time she sees him asleep next to her.

They haven't talked about what will happen when they land in Los Angeles, but given everything they've been through with their close-call kisses and the subtle and not so subtle flirting, she has to believe they won't be saying goodbye to each other any time soon.

The anticipation is enough to make her shiver, even under the covers.

A soft knocking on her door effectively throws a wet blanket over the heated images she's conjured of her and Arthur alone in some luxurious seaside hotel room in Los Angeles. She glances at the bedside clock. Seeing that it reads close to midnight makes her panic slightly. She isn't expecting anyone, and more importantly, no one is supposed to know where she's staying.

The knocking persists, louder this time. She flips on the bedside lamp and cautiously gets out of bed, slowly approaching the door. She tells herself it's probably just some hotel staff person or a drunken, mixed-up rendezvous. Looking through the peephole she sees neither but a giant, menacing eye staring right back at her.

An uncharacteristic little squeak escapes her.

The chuckle she hears on the other side of the door definitely does not belong to a hotel staff member and better not be a certain someone looking for a late-night booty-call. With her heart still racing and her annoyance mounting, she pulls open the door to the cheeky bastard to whom the amusement belongs to.

"Eames!"

"You really need to choose your hotels more wisely Ariadne. I could have sworn I heard a mouse in here."

"You ass!"

He continues to chuckle when she slaps him on the arm.

"I'll take that as your offer to let me in." Eames pushes his way past her, ignoring the murderous look in her eyes. He proceeds to make himself comfortable on her bed, lounging against the headboard and taking in the surroundings of her room.

"Eames, what are you doing here? I thought we were supposed to keep away from each other."

Her words make him smile. "Oh, but I can't keep away from _you_. There's something I want to_ give _you. I hope you're ready for it, because it might take _all_night." He reminds her of her words from their first encounter, and proceeds to lewdly stare at her nightclothes. "I mean, how can I resist you in those tiny shorts? And that t-shirt just begs for me to take it off you. Rawwrrr. So sexy."

He's sarcastically referring to her old pair of high school gym shorts and a t-shirt with a pair of kittens in a basket on it that her great aunt Persephone, who still thinks she's eight, got her for Christmas last year.

Defensively, she crosses her arms and tries to stare him down. She's still annoyed with him for startling her. "I didn't have time to do my laundry before I left."

"Ah, so that's your excuse for having to scavenge from the bottom of your wardrobe. Might I suggest that next time this outfit be relegated to the bottom of a garbage bin, covered in petrol and lit on fire, instead?"

"No, you may not," she responds, rather childishly.

Amused, Eames continues. "Alright then. But please tell me you have something presentable to wear for the first class cabin tomorrow."

"Of course I do. I went shopping earlier today and I assure you I'll be the picture of first class privilege tomorrow."

"Well, that's a relief. And can I assume," he leers at her, "that underneath your proper first class attire you'll be wearing the new black lace underwear you also bought earlier today? Or will you be putting that on for Arthur after you land in Los Angeles?"

Too late, she confirms his assumptions with a gasp. "What—what are you talking about?"

Eames stares off into the ceiling, but she can tell he's not buying her innocence. "Black is classic; you can't really go wrong with it. Simple elegance and whatnot." He turns his head to give her a knowing smile. "But you know, I think that little red see-through number you were eying would have been a nice choice too. A bit risqué, but I don't think Arthur would mind. In truth, I suspect he won't care what color underwear you're wearing, just that you're out of them."

"Were you following me?" she's able to demand, despite being embarrassed at being caught buying expensive lingerie that he correctly assumed she bought with Arthur in mind.

Ignoring her indignation, Eames chuckles and says, "I wouldn't call it following. Keeping tabs is more like it."

"You've been keeping tabs on me? What for?"

Shrugging, Eames says, "I just wanted to make sure our little architect has kept herself out of trouble. And sure enough here you are, safe and sound. And surprisingly all alone!" He nearly shouts the last part, as if for the benefit of someone not in the immediate vicinity.

"Will you be quiet? Of course I'm alone. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I thought someone might have broken the rules and made contact with you when he shouldn't have." She watches him rise from the bed and head to the bathroom, flipping on the light switch and taking a look inside.

"What are you talking about? No one has done that. No, wait, scratch that; _you_ have, though I'm not sure why and I'd really like to know." The last is said in an annoyed and slightly angry tone, but then she considers that Eames' break in protocol may mean something might be wrong. With concern now prominent, she asks, "Is everything okay? Is there something I should know about?"

"Is there something _I_ should know about?" He walks over now to the small closet, opening the door quickly as if he's expecting to find someone hiding within.

"What are you doing?"

"Why are you coming with us tomorrow?" He stares at her intently, his eyes serious.

She's taken aback by the abrupt question, if not by the sudden serious demeanor. Since learning of Fischer's death, Eames has adapted a 'no nonsense, let's get down to business' attitude.

"What?"

"It's a simple question, Ariadne."

A simple question maybe, but one that doesn't have a simple explanation.

"I've told you already. I want to see my creations come to life, see them in action."

"Is that the only reason you're coming along?"

"Of course." She hopes she looks honest enough. She knows how good Eames is at reading people and she doesn't want to get caught lying.

"I think you're lying."

She tries her hardest to maintain both eye contact and the appropriate reaction for someone who has nothing to hide.

"Why would you think that?"

"I think you _do_ have another reason for suddenly joining us. And I think _he_ has a lot more to do with your newfound desire of tagging along than wanting to see your creations come to life."

He knows about Cobb. Damn it, he's good.

Ariadne remains quiet, averting her eyes but refusing to acknowledge that Eames is correct. There's no use in denying it, he knows how to read her too well. She waits to explain the situation, wanting to hear what he knows, first.

Eames starts pacing the room, obviously churning something about in his mind. Still, she remains silent. She's not going to voluntarily give anything away.

When he finally speaks, he's dropped the mostly serious demeanor, replacing it with a partially sympathetic one.

"Look, I know you and Arthur have, rather pathetically might I say, slowly built this—this…thing between the two of you."

Arthur?

"And I understand that as excruciatingly slow as the going has been—and again, let me stress that I realize it's been epically slow—by now you're both inclined to be so sexually frustrated—and rightly so!—to the point that sneaking off into the airplane lavatory tomorrow to fuck each other's brains out may seem like a good idea, and in normal circumstances, I'd agree and would be the first to stand outside that lavatory door loudly demanding you two to cut it out—"

"Eames!" She interrupts his rambling. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He stops pacing. "Alright, I'll cut to the chase. What I'm trying to say is that we've got a complicated job to do tomorrow, one that I think we have a decent chance at pulling off. But we can only do that if we _all_ have our heads in the game at all times." He pauses for a moment and she waits expectantly for him to continue. "None of us needs to be distracted while we're working."

A frown creases her brow. She was hoping Eames knew about the situation with Cobb. But if what's she's piecing together is correct, she's not exactly thrilled with his implication.

"Are you trying to say I'll get in Arthur's way? That I'll be a distraction to him. Is that what you think?" Eames's silence is as good as a verbal confirmation, but it also leaves her confused. "I don't understand. Why would you think that?"

"How can I not? He's made exceptions for you that he's not known to make before."

"What are you talking about? What exceptions?"

"Do you know how long it takes to acquire a legitimate fake passport and set up an untraceable offshore account?" She doesn't know, but she has a feeling they're not quick turnovers.

"Several days, sometimes more, and that's if you have the right connections and maybe some favors to call in. Arthur did all that in a _few hours_, and during the time he should have used to get some rest. Did you notice how bloody knackered he was when he boarded the plane in Paris?"

She had noticed, and it made for a lovely experience, but she doesn't tell Eames that. Instead, she responds with, "I didn't ask him to do those things for me. In fact, I questioned whether they were really necessary, remember? And if I recall correctly, he asked _you_ to take care of my passport. That was your responsibility."

"It never should have been a responsibility, for anyone. But Arthur made it one. He made an exception, for you." She doesn't have an argument against that, so she doesn't say anything.

"He apparently also didn't put up much of a fight with Cobb when you asked to come along," Eames continues when she remains silent. "Did he ever ask you why you had a sudden change of heart?"

Arthur hadn't asked her. He just mentioned how he didn't know she wanted to come along.

"He didn't, did he?" Eames confirms. "And yet, Arthur questions _everything_ we do, every move we make. He wouldn't have thought twice about confronting Cobb or questioning his judgment if it were someone else asking. And yet, he doesn't say one word against you coming along. How does that not make you an exception?"

His words stir something within her and she stands up a little straighter, showing her confidence. "Because I'm part of them team, that's why." Ariadne raises her chin up a notch. Her words are slightly shaky from the emotions bubbling up inside, but she remains confident. It feels like he's trying to make her feel guilty, though she's not exactly sure why. Regardless, she isn't going to let him convince her she doesn't belong with them down in those dreams. "I'm not just anyone. I'm the architect, _not_ an exception. I know how important this job is. I've sat through all the brainstorming sessions with you guys. I know each level inside and out and better than all of you combined. And even though I may not have as much experience as the rest of you, I'm prepared and know what I need to do."

Eames is obviously paying attention to her bravado because he cracks a smile and looks partly impressed and partly chastised. "No, you aren't just anyone, are you?" Then his expression softens completely when he says, "But you're wrong, Ariadne. You are an exception because…Arthur has feelings for you, very strong feelings, I believe. And believe me when I tell you, I've see what can happen when a team member isn't able to separate his feelings from his priorities to the job. If he makes a crucial mistake, it affects everyone."

For a moment Ariadne wonders if he knows about Cobb and his issues with Mal. She doesn't think he does or else he'd certainly be voicing those concerns instead of the ones regarding Arthur's focus. It's almost ironic when she thinks about it. Eames is concerned with her derailing Arthur's attentions while she's set on keeping Cobb, who, in her opinion is the real concern to the team, from derailing his.

Life—and this job—would be so much easier if she could just tell someone about what's really going on. But she can't and she has to convince Eames that his concern is unwarranted.

"As far as I can tell, aside from one Saturday, everything that Arthur has done, whether for the team or me specifically, has been for the sake of this job. And, as far as his feelings for me goes," she smiles, unable to contain her happiness in being able to admit to someone else that Arthur has feelings for her, "I'll admit that it's flattering to think that they're so strong that they might distract him from everything else. But there's a reason he's considered one of the best, if not _the_ best point man in the business, isn't there? And isn't it because _he's_ the one that creates the diversions, not because he's easily diverted by them? I know _you_ know he's good at what he does, so don't tell me you suddenly believe he's going to start making mistakes just because I'm down there in the dreams with everyone else." Taking a step close, she confronts him head-to-head. "I'm sure Arthur will be fine. And if you really need me to, I'll tell you right now, I don't plan on being a distraction to him." She can't help but add, with an impish smile, "During the job that is. If I'm distracting to him afterwards, well that won't be any of your concern."

Eames smiles, impressed. "It'd be wrong to underestimate you, Ariadne."

"Then don't."

He releases a sigh before explaining, "Don't take my concerns as a personal attack, on either you or Arthur. They're coming from a purely professional standpoint. There's a lot riding on the success of this job and the bottom line is we'll be getting paid a shitload of money if we succeed, not to mention the undisclosed distinction, of having successfully pulled off inception. Those are things I just don't want to risk."

"You don't have to worry about me or Arthur." She doesn't want to tell him he has absolutely nothing to worry about because Cobb still remains a concern. "We're not succumbing to our…sexual frustration, as you put it. We'll be ready tomorrow. I want to see us succeed just as much as you do."

She doesn't mention that they have different reasons, hers less materialistic than his, but she doesn't have to.

"I want to see Cobb go home to his family too. I'm not that selfish."

"And I'm sure Arthur wants to see his friend go home to his family, as well," she adds.

Eames, possibly because he's tired and possibly because he finally believes her, nods. "You're right."

She breathes a sigh of relief, waves of exhaustion finally hitting her. Eames seems to sense this and reaches out to hug her to his side. "You better get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us."

And just like that he's quickly striding to the door, closing it softly behind him.

With a yawn, Ariadne gets back into bed. She probably would have ruminated over this conversation again, but her exhaustion has suddenly caught up with her.

Luckily for her, her last thoughts are the same as before Eames's interruption. She falls asleep with a soft smile on her face.


	16. We're Going To Need A Distraction

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter16 rating: PG-13 (language)

**Author's Greeting: **Let the kissing begin!

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**Chapter 16: We're Going To Need A Distraction**

As he walks through his hotel lobby, Arthur is grateful to discover that it looks like any other luxury hotel lobby catering to high profile business clientele. He's in the second dream layer now and so far the projections remain aloof. To say that things have not been running as smoothly as planned would be an understatement, but he isn't such an ingrained perfectionist that he can't take comfort in little mercies, and not being gunned down by a load of fire at this point, is a little mercy.

Along with finding everything relatively quiescent, Arthur's also managed to push aside his anger for Cobb's deception. Admittedly, the sting of the betrayal from Cobb's dishonesty is still there, but only when he thinks about it, which is something he isn't allowing himself to do. Those thoughts are too distracting and he, as well as the rest of the team, needs to make sure to keep focused and composed. Their faculties must remain unencumbered as they delve deeper. The consequences of any one of them failing to do anything short of that are just too great. Limbo is not a fate anyone should take lightly.

To be fair though, Cobb isn't the only one to blame for their situation. Arthur didn't exactly help matters by missing a vital piece of information in Fischer's background. That still bothers him, more than he'd like to admit. But they could have overlooked his mistake—as he told Cobb, they've dealt with sub-security before—if the risk of falling into Limbo hadn't become as great as it is. In that light, his oversight is a very costly one.

But at least everything's been quiet on this level—so far. He's thankful for that even if he can't help but wonder how long it will all last. That's not an additional worry manifesting from Cobb's manipulation, it's just _the_ signature worry of a seasoned point man.

Waking past the concierge desk, he intends to position himself on the set of couches on the stairs between the downstairs lobby and the rest of the hotel. The view from there allows him to keep an eye on the activities of the projections around him as well as easily monitor the comings and goings on the ground floor. He's supposed to go upstairs and take care of setting the charges for the kick, but decides that waiting here to make sure that Fischer's subconscious remains unsuspicious is more important. The charges won't do them any good if the projections get to them first.

"Well, hello, good-looking. Can I interest you in buying me a drink?"

Having been preoccupied with his strategy, Arthur doesn't see the beautiful blonde until she waylays him with a manicured hand on his chest. With a dramatic flip of her hair and a flirtatious smile, she juts her rather well-endowed chest at him.

Despite the severity of their situation, her appearance makes him smile. "Not bad. But don't you think you may be exaggerating a bit?" His eyes stray to her rather impressive chest.

"Not if they're doing their job. Are they not to your liking? Maybe you'd like a sample?" She grabs the lapels of his jacket and pulls him up close, pressing herself up against him.

Prying himself out of her grasp, he steps away and straightens his jacket. "Easy with the suit."

"What's wrong? Am I not your type?" she purrs.

He rolls his eyes. "No, you are definitely not my type." While readjusting his cuffs he tries to sidestep her but she grabs his arm to stop him.

The blonde pouts. "You're no fun."

Arthur sighs. "We don't have time for this. Fischer's in the bar. Go do your job and distract him." Turning to walk up the stairs, he sees Ariadne coming down toward them.

The blonde sees her too and tightens her grip on Arthur's arm, halting his steps. Her voice turns rough and accented as she leans in to whisper, "Just because you prefer petite brunettes over buxom blondes doesn't give you leave to become distracted yourself." When she finally releases his arm, she trails a finger along his jaw line, her voice returning to a feminine purr. "Keep that in mind, darling." The last part is said loud enough for Ariadne to hear, and with a wink directed at her, the woman sashays away.

"What was that all about? What are you supposed to keep in mind?"

Ariadne stops to stand next to him, frowning as she watches the blonde walk into the hotel bar. This close Arthur can't help but notice how fetching Ariadne looks in her smart little gray business suit. The jacket and skirt are flattering without being too ostentatious, and from what he can see of her blouse, it is an interesting design. He wonders what it would look like if she removed her jacket.

"Arthur?"

Before he can wonder what she'd look like if she removed the blouse as well, he clears his throat and belatedly replies, "Uh, it's nothing." And then, because he can't help but touch her, he places a hand on her waist to coax her to go back up the stairs. "Come on. Let's wait over there." He points to the set of couches he had been eying earlier.

Ariadne briefly glances at his hand at her waist before giving him a look, but doesn't protest it.

"You must be relieved that the projections are playing nice." She takes a seat on one of the couches. He seats himself right next to her. "Here they're only flirting with you instead of trying to shoot at you."

The stiffness in her voice makes him raise his brows in question, but she ignores him, making a great show of straightening her already straight pencil skirt. If he didn't know any better, he would think she was jealous.

"Actually, appealing to one's vanity or desires through flirtation is an excellent method of distraction since it preoccupies the subconscious, making it permeable to other assaults." That gets her to look up at him and he smiles as he continues. "But that only works when you're dealing with the mark directly, not his projections, and _definitely_ not with a bastard who has excellent forging skills."

She frowns, obviously confused. But then her eyes widen with realization and a surprised gasp escapes her. "That was Eames!"

"He's good, isn't he?" He can't help but smile further at the amazement in her expression.

"I only caught brief glimpses of his Browning forge, but that—" she gestures towards the bar where Eames entered, "—that's incredible!" Shaking her head, she adds, "He's really convincing as a woman, albeit a trampy one."

Amused, he asks, "Trampy? What makes you say that?"

"Um, I don't know, maybe because of the fact that _she was_ _all over you_—I mean _he_. _He_ was all over you." She pauses, looking adorably befuddled. "That doesn't sound right either."

"I agree."

It's her turn to be amused. With a slight tilt of her head, she asks, "Why _was_ he all over you?"

With a shake of his head, Arthur explains, "Eames wasn't _all_ over me, he was just showing off. He thinks all men are easily distracted and turned on by a woman who blatantly flaunts her…_charms_ right in front of him."

"You sound as if don't think that's true." Her statement is more of a question as she favors him with an upturn of one eyebrow and a quirk of her lips.

"It's not." He smiles, this time unashamedly admiring her in her business suit. "I, for example, actually prefer a woman who practices some subtlety." His eyes stray to the high layered collar of her blouse before sweeping over the rest of her conservative outfit. "Where's the fun in getting to know someone if you can't do a little exploring and discovering for yourself?"

Her surprised 'oh' comes out breathy and widens his smile to a grin. She fixates on his mouth for several moments before she seems to snap herself out of it and quickly begins to fidget with her clothes again.

"Where's Cobb?" she blurts out. "I…I should probably stick close to him on this level."

He grabs her hand, stopping her from leaving. "Stay here with me." His voice is softer, more intimate than it was meant to be and he watches as she visibly swallows before her tongue peeks out to hastily lick her lips. That action captivates him for several seconds—several seconds longer than it should have.

Annoyingly, he recalls Eames' warning.

Clearing his throat, he lets go of her hand and clarifies in a more normal voice, "Uh, Cobb will be busy with Fischer. It will be better if you're with me."

"But I…"

"Ariadne, relax. We've got to let Cobb do what he needs to do."

Resuming her seat, she searches his face, concern now creasing her brow. "Cobb will do the right thing, won't he? I mean, he'll be preoccupied with convincing Fischer that Browning is setting him up, right?"

He frowns slightly at her earlier question, but dismisses it as nerves.

"Yes, that's the plan. In fact, there goes Mr. Charles right now." Arthur nods towards Cobb who is striding down the lobby.

She catches sight of Cobb entering the bar. Her curiosity piqued, she asks, "Who or what is Mr. Charles?"

"It's a gambit designed to turn Fischer against his own subconscious." And a risky gambit at that. He has doubts about its effectiveness since the last time they tried it they were massacred. He'd hate to see what militarized projections would do to them if Fischer sees through the ruse.

Aware of his disapproval, Ariadne asks, "And why don't you approve?"

"Because it involves telling the mark that he's dreaming, which involves attracting a lot of attention to us." And makes his job ten times harder, which is the last thing he needs right now.

They watch Eames, as the blonde, exit the bar and briskly walk out of the lobby.

"Didn't Cobb say never to do that?"

"So now you've noticed how much time Cobb spends doing things he says never to do." This isn't anything new to Arthur. He's seen Cobb break his own rules numerous times before, usually when they have to abandon the game plan. Implementing Mr. Charles isn't completely surprising to him and he's familiar enough with having to improvise on the job that he's not concerned about having to, it's just the extra caution they have to use that worries him.

Ariadne says something under her breath that sounds like, "Tell me about it," which makes him look to her in question.

"So what happens next?" she asks, ignoring his inquiring look.

Deciding to let it go, he scans the lobby instead. At any moment Cobb should be making Fischer's subconscious aware of the dream.

"Just keep an eye out on the projections. We'll wait for a few more minutes before going to the fourth floor to set the charges. Once Fischer's on board with the ruse we'll meet them on the fifth floor. If all goes to plan, then ideally Fischer's subconscious will project Browning who he'll suspect is plotting against him. It'll lay the groundwork for the rest of the inception."

"And if it doesn't go as planned? What happens then?"

Ariadne's questions are now fraught with worry as she watches the projections start to eye them suspiciously. He can almost feel her tense up in her already taut posture. He wants to tell her not to worry and that it'll all be okay, but he knows he can't promise that.

The sudden shaking of the hotel and the rain pelting down on the ground outside do not help.

Ariadne's fear becomes even more palpable as she inches her way closer to him. Her eyes remain vigilant on the projections and he hears her sharp intake of breath.

"What's happening?"

The projections closest to them have slowed their steps and turn to stare at them. Luckily, they're non-threatening which means he doesn't have to pull out his gun. Doing so would probably only make Ariadne even more anxious.

"Cobb's drawing Fischer's attention to the strangeness of the dream, which is making his subconscious look for the dreamer. For me."

He thinks that being straightforward and not showing any outward fear himself will ease her anxiety, but between the few inches of space that separates them he can feel the tension vibrate off her as her attention remains on Fischer's projections. If she starts acting antsy or makes a sudden move to bolt, it may make Fischer's subconscious even more suspicious.

She needs to be distracted, and given their proximity he knows exactly what to do.

"Quick, give me a kiss."

His command is firm and assured and has the desired effect of both distracting her attention away from the projections and refocusing it on him. He tells himself that distraction is his only intention for the kiss as he leans over and covers most of the distance between them. But as Ariadne's eyes flutter close before their lips finally meet for one sweet second, he knows that isn't true.

"They're still looking at us."

The projections continue to remain mildly curious, but nothing more. Carefully, he schools his expression to remain carefully neutral. "Yeah, it was worth a shot."

He waits for a moment, watching dawning awareness set in and a smile start to form on her face. He feels the grin erupting on his own but before it manages to be full blown, says, "We should probably get out of here."

Rising from the couch before she can comment on what just happened, he sticks his hands in his pockets and allows himself the smile he suppressed earlier as he makes his way towards the elevators.

He reaches them before Ariadne, his head start and longer stride giving him the advantage. When she does finally join him, the knowing little smile he had seen hints of on her face is replaced with a look of consternation. It isn't until she looks back to scan the lobby area that he realizes just how uneasy she has become again.

Taking her hand, he tries to assure her. "Hey, don't worry. They're ignoring us." He gestures to the projections going about their business. "That means Fischer has accepted the dream. We'll be okay."

"You don't see Eames around, do you?"

"Eames? No, he should be wandering the hotel. Why do you—."

Ariadne cuts him off by pulling him down by his jacket lapels and placing her lips over his.

Much like earlier, this kiss is distracting.

Enjoyably distracting.

But it's also so much more and before long Arthur finds himself happily kissing Ariadne right back. When her grip on his suit loosens and her hands slide up his shoulders to loop around his neck, the action brings her soft curves up against his hard planes. He smiles against her mouth and wraps his own arms around her waist to effectively eliminate any space left between them. If possible, her body softens even more as she sighs into him.

Uncaring and unaware of anything else, he thinks he's perfectly content to have Ariadne melt into him like this. But she quickly changes his mind when her tongue darts out to lick across the seam of his lips, eagerly seeking entrance. Not one to deny a woman what she wants when she's got her lips on him, he opens his mouth to grant her access. Despite her earlier eagerness, her tongue is hesitant, almost shy as it meets his. That lasts only a moment, however, as he breathes in another of her sighs after his tongue swirls around hers. But she's not the only one affected; a moan of his own rumbles out his throat when she changes the tone of the kiss and starts to suck at his bottom lip.

Wrapped up in the haze of their kiss, Arthur is vaguely aware of them moving. Without breaking contact, one of Ariadne's arms unloops from his neck, searching for something behind her. Her other arm meanwhile, hangs on to him as his lips kiss a path from her mouth to the underside of her jaw.

"Arr…thurr…"

Her shiver interrupts the breathless sound of his name and he kisses his way back to her mouth. But before he can coax her tongue to come out and play again, he's shoved forcefully away.

In shock, he watches as she steps into an opened elevator and pushes a button to close the doors.

Breathlessly, she proclaims, "That's a proper distraction." Then, just before the doors close, he sees her smile. "I'll wait for you on the fourth floor!"

He's left staring at the closed elevator, a little breathless with a lopsided smile on his own face.

That was more an improper distraction than a proper one, but he's not complaining. In fact, it takes all his effort to not immediately follow her upstairs and get distracted again.

But as much as he's starting to miss the feel of her in his arms, he knows she did the right thing stopping them when she did and getting in that elevator without him. They both need this time apart to refocus and concentrate on the task at hand. They still have a job to do, after all.

Remembering his own earlier resolve to do just that, he runs through their game plan and his to-do list in his head again: give Cobb time with Fischer, check; keep an eye on projections, check.

Distract anxious teammate with chaste kiss and then let her distract you with amazing kiss, check and check.

"What's put that stupid smile on your face?"

Like a dousing of cold of water, Eames' question brings Arthur back to reality, or what serves as reality in the dream. Turning, he sees the forger exit the other elevator as himself. Suspicion is written all across his face.

"I'm not smiling." Even as he says it he knows it's a boldface lie. Eames, for his part, doesn't mention it but gives him an up and down look over. Self-consciously Arthur straightens his slightly askew jacket and tie, thankful that Ariadne's hands didn't make their way up into his hair. It'd be harder to look composed with his hair sticking out at all angles. "I was just about to go upstairs to set the charges. What are you up to?"

Eames raises a brow. "Just going upstairs to set the charges, huh?" When Arthur remains impassive, he shrugs and says, "I'm going to continue wandering around the hotel. The projections seem happy, for now." He takes a quick look around them, confirming this. "How much more time do you think Cobb needs?"

He's not sure. He's lost track of the projections. And he can't say with any certainty how far along Cobb is with convincing Fisher. This makes him uneasy. The kiss and Ariadne's pliant little body have made him lose track of both his surroundings and time. Recalling Eames' earlier warning isn't helping his focus either.

"It shouldn't be much longer." He hopes. "I better get upstairs." He pushes the button to call the elevator.

"Do you need any help?"

"No, thanks, I'll manage." The elevator opens and he steps inside. He doesn't need Eames' questioning looks as he handles the explosives.

"Make sure that you do. We're already knee deep in it as it is," Eames warns. "None of us can afford to get distracted and fuck things up. Not only would it be disastrous, but also highly…unprofessional."

Eames favors him with a knowing look. Uncomfortable, Arthur tugs at his already straightened suit. "You don't have to remind me," he says as unaffectedly as he can. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got charges to set."

"Yeah, yeah. Oh, and _if_ you see Ariadne, could you give her a message for me?"

Arthur pauses in pushing the elevator button, immediately suspicious.

"Tell her I think she's extremely…_exceptional_."

With that Eames walks away, leaving Arthur wondering about his message. Normally, he'd be agreeing whole-heartedly with Eames. But something tells him that there's more behind those words than what lies at face value.

Before he can dissect the real meaning any further, the elevator opens up to the fourth floor. Not that he has the time for figuring out what Eames' comment means. He needs to get his head back in the game. There are still charges to set, a mark to convince of treachery, an idea to implant, kicks to synchronize.

And kisses to stop thinking about.

Taking a deep breath, he schools himself back into point man mode.

Once he's assured he's ready to take care of business he steps out of the elevator and finds Ariadne waiting for him. She's standing in the hallway with a serious look on her face.

The look falters when he approaches, a small smile breaking through instead.

"I guess the projections really _aren't_ looking at us anymore," Ariadne teases. She's trying, and failing, to suppress a widening smile.

Despite his resolve to remain in control of his priorities, he finds himself caught up in her amusement and smiles.

"No, they're not."

"No, they're not," she agrees. Then, she surprises him by reaching her hand out and cupping his jaw. All self-control threatens to disappear when her thumb swipes at his lips.

He's dangerously close to pulling her into one of the empty hotel rooms to let her distract him again. "Ariadne—."

"As much as I'm enjoying this particular shade of my lipstick on your lips," she interrupts, continuing to wipe her thumb around his mouth, "it doesn't look very professional on you."

"What?" Her words pull him away from her ministrations and he walks over to one of the hallway mirrors to find faint traces of lipstick on and around his mouth. "Shit!"

"Arthur? It was just a bit of lipstick. Besides, the projections didn't notice."

"No, they didn't, but Eames did." He pulls out his handkerchief and wipes the remaining incriminating evidence from his face. "No wonder he was looking at me funny."

"You ran into Eames!" The alarmed distress in her voice over this news takes him by surprise.

"Yeah, we ran into each other by the elevators."

"What did he…did he say…anything to you?" Ariadne worries her bottom lip, obviously anxious to hear his answer.

"He just asked about Cobb and how much more time I thought he needed." He leaves out the part where the forger warned him about not getting distracted. "But he did have a message for you. He said to tell you that he thinks you're extremely exceptional."

Ariadne blanches at this news, confirming his suspicion that the message is not what it seems.

He takes her hand, instantly concerned. "What is it? What does that mean?"

She looks down at their hands and frowns up at him before letting him go.

Solemnly, she says, "It means we're here to do a job and we can't afford to get distracted like that again." And then she backtracks. "I mean the first time was okay because I probably did need a little distraction, I think, but the other time was just…"

"A more proper distraction?" he supplies with a smirk he can't suppress when she hesitates.

"Yes—I mean no!" She presses her lips together and takes a couple of steps away from him, putting distance between them before announcing, "What I'm trying to say is that we shouldn't kiss anymore."

His first instinct is to vehemently object by kissing her again and then daring her to repeat her words, but he's not so out of control that he doesn't understand the gravity of their current situation or what she means. Now isn't the time to give in to baser urges, no matter how much they may want to. He collects himself and agrees with her.

"You're right."

They stare at each other for a moment, seeming to confirm their new resolve, as unpalatable to both as it may be.

Reaching for a semblance of restraint, Arthur reaches up to straighten his already straight tie, resuming his role as a point man in control. "Come on. We have an idea to implant. Let's go set the charges."

Ariadne nods, no doubt relieved, and follows a step behind him.

After several steps he hears her say, "Just to be clear, I'm—I'm talking about during the dream."

He stops to turn to her. She's looking down at her shoes.

"Excuse me?"

"I—I mean—I want you to know that I'm not saying that we _shouldn't_ kiss _outside_ of the dream," she clarifies with a hint of a blush. "We just shouldn't kiss while we're here—in the dream," she adds, rather hurriedly.

His lips threaten a smile.

"I understood what you meant."

She looks up, a smile of her own tugging at her lips. "Good," she nods and starts to walk ahead of him. "I just don't want there to be any confusion, you know, about when we should or shouldn't be kissing."

"There's absolutely no confusion whatsoever." He hurries to catch up with her, matching her steps once they're side by side, careful not to brush her hand with his. "Kissing in the dream—no. Kissing outside of the dream—definitely yes."

She stops and looks up at him. "Definitely yes," she repeats, giving in to a smile. And then, clearing her throat, she's all business once again. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other. Now, let's go set some charges."

Arthur allows himself a brief smile as well before resuming a serious demeanor. They did understand each other. And they will get this job done, without any further distractions of the kissing kind.

"Let's go set some charges," he agrees, guiding her to room four-nine-one.

But his confidence in their newfound resolve wanes when they enter the large, empty hotel room with its large, inviting bed. Immediately, he regrets their promise.

"This job can't be over soon enough," he mutters as he tries to ignore the bed while he heads to the safe for the explosives.


	17. Some Rules Are Meant To Be Broken

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.

Chapter17 rating: PG; Author's Greeting rating: PG-13 (language)

**Author's Greeting:** Well, hello! It's been a while, hasn't it? I wish I could tell you I've been busy off gallivanting around the world and hob-nobbing with interesting people which is why I haven't updated this fic, but I can't. I live in the real world, where real life can get kind of shitty. On the upside, recent pop-cultural events and my willingness to procrastinate on the important things have spurred me to write chapter 18 of this fic, thereby allowing me to publish this chapter.

I'll let you guess what current events happening now have led to me actually completing a chapter I'd been working on for half a year; hint: Think jgl. Also, the next chapter involves sex.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 17: Some Rules Are Meant To Be Broken**

Holed up in the sunken van with their oxygen running low, Arthur checks a still sleeping Saito for a pulse. As he expected from the still non-responsive tourist, he doesn't find one. The growing blood-stain on his shirt doesn't leave Arthur with much hope, so he leaves him and makes his way back to Ariadne and one of the oxygen tanks she, Yusuf, and he have been sharing.

They've been submerged under water for nearly thirty minutes, just enough time for Fischer and Browning, or rather Fischer and Eames, to leave the shore before the rest of them make their appearance. After checking the tank regulators again he signals to both Ariadne and Yusuf that they should make their way up to the surface. Ariadne takes one last breath from one of the oxygen tanks before handing the mouthpiece over to him. After taking his own hit off the nearly depleted tank he gestures for Ariadne to make her way up to the surface. Before she does, she grabs at his arm to follow.

But Arthur can't leave just yet. He reaches over to check Cobb's pulse again. He and Saito were the only two who didn't wake up from the synchronized kicks; but unlike Saito, Cobb still has a pulse. Arthur shakes him, trying futilely to get a response, but it's no use. He's still too heavily sedated.

Meanwhile, Ariadne, who hasn't left for the surface yet, tugs even harder at his arm. Finally giving up, he vents his fears in a frustrated growl and swims out of the van after her.

The swim to the top is arduous for everyone. Their clothes and boots weigh them down, making it that much harder to swim up the several yards that they're under. The extra effort also reduces the air supply in their lungs faster. But eventually, after several long moments of hard swimming they finally break through the surface of the water, each inhaling big gulps of the chilled air as they keep themselves afloat. Rain continues to come down, but not as heavy as before.

As tired and miserable as they're all feeling, Arthur knows there's still a bit of swimming left and encourages them to make their way to one of the riverbanks. When they reach the rocky embankment, Fischer and Eames, as expected, are nowhere to be seen.

On weary limbs, they each make their way out of the water. Yusuf makes his way up to higher ground while Ariadne plops herself down on one of the big rocks right on the water's edge and tries to catch her breath.

"What happened?" Arthur asks as soon as he gets himself out of the river. It's the question that's been foremost on his mind ever since finding his friend still asleep.

"Cobb stayed."

Cobb stayed? Damn, there can only be one reason why he stayed.

"With Mal?"

"No. To find Saito."

Saito. Cobb went down to Limbo for Saito.

It makes sense that he would try to find him. If their client doesn't wake then Cobb doesn't go home. But staying also puts Cobb at risk of not finding his way back. And if Mal finds him…

Arthur turns to the spot in the water where he knows the van to be—where Cobb is, and voices his fear. "He'll be lost."

"No. He'll be alright." The calm and certainty in Ariadne's voice takes him by surprise. She's looking out into the water, to the spot he had been watching only a couple seconds ago. There's a quiet confidence in her expression that tells him she's not worried. It makes him turn back to the water to see if he can feel that confidence too.

"And yet _another_ reason to never go out into the field."

Behind them, a soggy Yusuf is shaking out his wet hair and wringing out his vest. "So what do we do now? We still have another seven and a half days here."

Arthur grits his teeth, suppressing his annoyance at the chemist. They did have some time to wait out on this level. They wouldn't have had, however, if Yusuf didn't let Cobb tamper with the Somnacin. But arguing that point wouldn't do them any good or change the fact that they're stuck in this wet metropolis. Besides, he was as much to blame for their current predicament as anyone.

"There's not much we can do except wait it out as unobtrusively as we can."

"What does that mean?" Ariadne asks.

"It means we need to lay low and avoid being noticed by Fischer's subconscious. Don't do anything that may arouse his suspicions or alert his security. We don't change the layout of the dream, we don't do anything out of the ordinary for this scenario, and we don't bring in our own subconscious."

"So in other words, go about as if we're spending time in a rain drenched city." Yusuf doesn't look too thrilled at the prospect and Arthur doesn't blame him. Time does go by faster in dreams, but even in dream time a week is a long time to wait.

"Pretty much."

"What about Eames and Fischer?" Ariadne asks. "Does Eames have to keep up his Browning forge this whole time?"

"Maybe. Fischer's supposed to believe he's in the real world now. Unless his subconscious starts projecting Browning on its own, Eames needs to be at his disposal as Browning." Arthur rises from his seat on the rock. "We need to get out of here. Fischer's security may still be lingering nearby." He reaches down to help Ariadne up.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"Did you build anything on the outskirts of the maze that we can use to hide out in? Something nondescript?"

Yusuf contemplates Arthur's question for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. We can go to YSF pharmaceuticals. I constructed it as a homage to my vanity, but it should do the job."

"Won't there be projections in there?"

"There shouldn't be," Arthur answers Ariadne's question. "We'll be far away from the maze center, where Fischer should be now. His subconscious will populate those areas of the maze closest to him first. He doesn't know the limits of the dream yet. The far edges of the maze should still be empty."

"It's only when a dreamer spends a long time in a dream that he can populate the entire maze, or the whole dream," Yusuf adds. "A dreamer who knows he's dreaming and knows its boundaries can do it much quicker."

"Show us the way, Yusuf." Arthur, not feeling comfortable with being exposed in the open, urges the others to get moving.

The three team members quietly trudge their way through the city-maze, forgoing transportation and avoiding interactions with the projections. Arthur keeps an eye out for any lingering hostile ones, but luckily for them Fischer's subconscious seems to be entrenched in the dream's reality.

After a couple of hours of walking in the rain, everyone is relieved to finally find the plain little building housing YSF pharmaceuticals. Picking up a large rock from a nearby landscaped flower bed, Yusuf opens it to reveal a hidden keycard.

"Hide-a-key. Very clever."

"Well, I guess I figured if I'm going to make the effort to imagine this place I might as well make sure I'd be able to get in." Yusuf grins at Ariadne as he swipes the key through a reader. The doors to the building unlock and he holds them open for Arthur and Ariadne to enter. An empty reception desk greets them, behind which are a set of elevators.

"There are only three floors," Yusuf comments as he presses the button to call the elevator. "The first and second contain offices and employee common areas while the top floor is all laboratory space."

A short ride on the elevator takes them to the second floor where Yusuf leads them to an employee lounge.

"We'll probably be most comfortable here."

"You weren't kidding about this place being nondescript," Ariadne comments, examining Yusuf's decor. The lounge, like the building, is purely functional. There are a couple of couches placed in the center of the room along with a couple of tables with chairs. Other than that, there's an open doorway at one end of the room that leads to a little kitchenette. "I have to say, as an homage to your vanity, this place is a little…lacking."

Yusuf shrugs. "I'm a facilitator, not an architect. I design chemicals, not buildings. That's what you're for. But the laboratories upstairs should be outfitted with the latest and greatest technology."

"A high tech, state of the art facility in the middle of nowhere might tip Fischer off." Arthur interjects. "We're fortunate you kept the building simple." He checks out the view from the windows and finds that they face out to the front of the building. From there he can see the comings and goings on the street below, which at the moment is completely devoid of any projections. The nearby buildings also look unoccupied, much to his relief.

"I'm going to check the perimeter of the building. I'll need your keycard." Despite those assurances that they're not being watched, the point man in him won't let him rest until he's checked out the rest of their surroundings.

"Do you want us to come with you?"

"No, I'll be fine. Stay here and dry off. I'll be back shortly."

Arthur takes the card Yusuf hands over and leaves quickly, missing Ariadne's concerned look.

Heading back out through the front entrance he takes quick surveillance of their surroundings, trying to remember what buildings and areas to check when he goes back inside and does the same thing from the vantage point of different windows inside the building. It's getting dark and he wants to familiarize himself with their location so he can plan an exit strategy. They're not quite out of the woods yet despite the lack of militarized projections in this level and it wouldn't hurt to be cautious.

He wanders around for a bit, trying to concentrate on a way out should they be ambushed, but in truth, planning their exit strategy is just a ruse for some time alone to think about what to do should Cobb and Saito remain down in Limbo before time is up. That's the real concern. There's just no telling when or _if_ Cobb and Saito will wake before landing in Los Angeles, and it never occurred to any of them that they'd need a contingency plan should someone not make it out of the dream.

"Damn it! What the hell was he thinking?" Arthur runs a frustrated hand over his hair, his lack of control over Cobb's situation giving way to the anger he had to suppress earlier after finding out what Cobb had done. It was either that or let himself be overwhelmed by anxiety over his friend. His anger is much easier to confront.

This is the first time Cobb has pulled a stunt this selfish and dangerous during a job and Arthur is at a loss for what to do aside from chasing after Cobb down in Limbo—a place he himself has never been. He knows about it, of course, from Cobb and other extractors, but he's never been curious enough—or foolish, depending on one's point of view—to experience it himself. He likes to think it's one of the advantages of his pragmatic nature; he's always been too grounded to get caught up in a world that's not real. But if Cobb and Saito get lost down there, then he may have no choice.

That thought sits like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.

If only Cobb had told him what he was planning. But even as he thinks it, Arthur knows that learning about the sedation ahead of time was never an option. Cobb knows him well enough than to think that he would ever go along with something that put them in so much danger.

And as for Cobb, Arthur can only surmise that tampering with the dreams was an act of desperation on his part, a last Hail Mary attempt to win back his life. The very fact that he was willing to put the teams' lives in jeopardy speaks volumes about the man his friend has become. The Cobb now wandering through the depths of his own subconscious is a far cry from the man Arthur had known…when Mal was still alive.

Her death changed everything.

A sadness that sometimes accompanies Arthur's thoughts of Mal suddenly hangs over him and he releases a deep exhalation of breath. He watches it dissipate in the damp air, like the memories he's forcing himself to stop. When he finally gets a hold of himself, he feels the chill of twilight settle in his bones and begin to numb his extremities. It forces him back inside the building where he tries to re-concentrate his efforts back to the rest of his surveillance.

But the looming darkness makes it difficult and the persistence of memory is too strong. Instead, he gives up on his task and enters one of the offices. The buzz of the hallway florescent lights can be heard inside the room but he doesn't switch on the office lights. Some memories are better met in the dark.

In the relative quiet of the office, the scene before him as he stares out the window isn't of the rain outside making the streets and buildings glitter under the city lights. It's of a backyard lawn in need of a trim out in the idyllic Southern California hills. After a moment, two blonde children run out into the late afternoon sunshine armed with new toys; his senses are assaulted by the sounds and smells of dinner being prepared behind him. The house he's imagined has always given off an air of warmth and comfort; it's a home built by love and family.

But on this particular day and in this particular memory, as it always does when he thinks back to it, something strikes him as off. He remembers Cobb greeting him with a little more enthusiasm than usual, while Mal, instead of hugging him and chastising him for the amount of time that has passed since his last visit, merely smiles and accepts his kiss on her cheek.

Later, dinner would be an awkward affair. The stiltedness of the adult conversation due to the apparent aloofness of one and the carefully pent up frustrations of the other could not even be averted by the children's natural curiosity regarding their uncle's whereabouts.

It was only after Mal put the children to bed that Cobb confessed his and Mal's foray into Limbo.

"Do you know what a point man who fails to maintain his vigilance is called?"

The teasing voice is as soft and familiar as the hint of lavender that fills the air.

A quiet curse leaves his lips as he closes his eyes; all but one of the images from his past disappears.

"Ineffective." He hears his projection slip into the office, drawing closer. "But I suspect troubled thoughts weigh heavy in your mind." She's by his side now, but he doesn't turn towards her. "It's part of the reason why you aren't focusing."

She's right. Focus. Controlling the dream—suppressing one's subconscious—is all about focus.

With eyes still closed, he clutches his fists in his pockets. One hand grips his totem.

"But I think we can let this lapse slide since your laxity is obviously due to you missing me terribly."

Her teasing words break through whatever concentration he had managed and his eyes snap open.

Mal gifts him with the sweetest of smiles and suddenly he's unprepared for the wealth of emotions that her presence elicits.

Standing next to him isn't a cold, ruthless projection wreaking havoc in Dom's wake, or even the reserved and distant woman from their last real-life encounter, but a younger, much happier Mal from Arthur's past. She's the same woman who smoked cigarettes, wore her hair long, and built paradoxes with him. She's the old friend who teased him about his serious nature and who spent countless hours teaching him to manipulate and disguise boundaries. This is the Mal who comforted him when he took his first dream bullet in the head.

"You don't have to say it. I know you, Arthur."

He swallows, conflicted between temptation and reason.

She did know him. At least, this Mal did. He doesn't need to worry she'll shoot him in his kneecap. His Mal won't turn into something strange and twisted. She comes from the place inside him where Mal was Mal, his friend and confidante.

"You're worried." She reaches up to soothe the frown wrinkling his forehead. "You know you can tell me anything."

It's both stupid and selfish to have her here and he's aware that he's deliberating disobeying his own warning to not bring his subconscious into the dream.

"Come, talk to me."

But when he looks at her—at _his_ Mal—he can't seem to find his self-control. It's almost comforting to see her again and to hear her voice. He wonders if this is how Cobb feels every time she appears in a dream.

"You know you want to. What's stopping you?"

Shaking his head, he tells himself that he doesn't want to know what it feels like or get used to seeing Mal in his dreams. He needs to suppress her and make her disappear. As an experienced dreamer he knows how to do it.

"What's bothering you?" The look of concern in her eyes appears genuine.

"I'm afraid."

Temptation prevails. This situation—this dream—has been far from routine. Rules have already been broken. What's one more?

"Dom's down in Limbo. He's probably lost and I'm not sure…I'm not sure if he'll come back. I'm not sure I can bring him back." The words he had been afraid to voice out loud spill out in a rush. Once spoken they become real and he doesn't like the way they make him feel so helpless.

"What makes you think he won't come back?"

He looks at her then, this Mal from a different time. "The odds are against him."

"How are they against him?"

Because Limbo, that raw, infinite subconscious, is a state of mind with the capability to change you and who you are. Dom once told him this after he and Mal spent time there in an experiment.

And he appeared to be right. Hadn't Arthur seen the proof? Wasn't Mal out of sorts after their experiment? Isn't this Dom different from who he once was?

"He has you to watch his back, doesn't he? He trusts you, Arthur." Mal continues, taking his hand in both of hers. "I trust you."

Arthur looks at her then, this Mal who doesn't know what Dom's capable of anymore. His Mal is from a simpler time. This Mal never experienced Limbo with her husband.

"And don't you have a whole team of extractors working with you? You're not alone."

She's right, he isn't alone. If worst came to worst, he had Eames, Yusuf, and Ariadne to help him.

He frowns. Somehow, that thought is not as reassuring as it should be.

As usual, Mal sees right through him.

"Eames may annoy you to no end, but you know he's good at what he does. He's also a very good extractor. Between the two of you, I believe you can come up with a solution if the 'odds' don't turn in Dom's favor."

Arthur knows this to be true, but their situation with Fischer may not allow them the opportunity to figure out how to get Dom out of Limbo. As for Yusuf, he's not sure that he can rely on the chemist to be of any help. His hand in Dom's deception still rings soundly given that they're still in this mess.

That leaves Ariadne.

"Who is she?"

"Who?"

Mal laughs, a hollow sound. "Why did Dom chose her?"

The question throws him off for a moment. "Because she's a talented architect. Your father recommended her."

From outside the office he hears someone call out his name.

"I'm sure she is. Papa has a way of attracting the brightest. But is that the only reason?" Mal starts to edge away from him, moving closer to a darkened corner. "Don't worry so much, Arthur." She is in shadows now and he can barely make out her face. "He'll be alright."

He'll be alright. He's heard that once before.

"How do you know that?"

He hears his name called again, louder and closer this time.

"I'm not the one you should be asking." She's slipping further into the corner, barely visible.

"Wait!" He takes quick steps to reach the corner and extends his hand to find hers. "I have missed you."

He can hear her smile. "I know, but I have to go now."

He nods even though he knows she can't see him.

On a deep breath he shuts his eyes and exhales a calming breath. His mind is focused as Ariadne appears in the doorway of the office.

"Arthur?"

He opens his eyes in continued darkness.

"Arthur, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He turns to see her in the halo of light filtering in from the hallway and makes his way to the light switch. He flips it on to bathe them both in the soft glow of the office's lamplight.

She's dried off now from their earlier trek in the rain and she's removed her jacket. With the light on he watches her examine the room before facing him. Doubt shows on her face as she searches his.

"Why were you standing here in the dark? I thought…I thought I heard voices."

It occurs to him that he can deny it—lie to her, tell her she is mistaken—but he doesn't.

"I was talking to Mal."

She's taken aback. "Mal? But I thought—"

"My Mal."

"Oh." She avoids his eyes by focusing on the collar of his shirt. "Y_our_ Mal." After a few moments she finally looks up and coolly replies, "You broke the rules."

"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it."

She nods, and then asks, "Why did you?"

"Because I missed her."

She doesn't say anything but her eyes give her away just as they did the last time they had spoken of Mal. He knows she's wondering if what he'd told her before about their platonic relationship is true.

"She was my friend," he tells her. "I made a promise to her that I'd always look out for Cobb. I'm…having doubts about whether I've lived up to that promise and I guess I thought that maybe, if I saw her—talked to her," he shrugs, "she'd tell me not to worry. Ease my guilt, as it were."

"And did that work?" she asks, skeptical over his logic, as she should be.

"Not in the way I thought it would."

Ariadne waits expectantly.

"She did tell me not to worry. But I was wrong. Hearing it from her didn't help, but she helped me to understand why. What I really need is to hear it from you."

"From me?"

"Yes. Mal wasn't the right person to talk to. She can't tell me what happened down below with Cobb. She can't assuage my fears regarding him making it back safe and sound. Only you can do that."

"You're still concerned that Cobb won't make it out, then?"

He nods. "You told me that he'll be alright. I need you to tell me how you know that. I need to know how you can you be so sure."

"Because he told me he would."

He's about to argue that that isn't a good enough reason, that Cobb's word can't be trusted anymore, but her sigh along with her hand reaching out to his arm, trying to offer comfort, stops him.

"I know what you're thinking. But he can be trusted. This time."

Ariadne holds his gaze before she tries to explain and make him understand. She launches into what happened in the third layer dream: the hurriedness of their attempts down in the hospital fortress, how they missed the first kick and needed a shortcut through the maze, how she was forced to explain the dream's layout to everyone including Cobb, how Mal soon showed up, and how she tried to convince Cobb his projection Mal wasn't real. But Cobb wouldn't believe her until it was too late. Mal ends up shooting Fischer.

"To come that far..." she looks up at him, her eyes pleading for him to understand, "…to be that close. We couldn't leave things as they were. I…I convinced him we had to go down and find Fischer."

"You wanted to go down into Limbo?" he asks, his frown deepening.

"It was the only way. I knew we could do it."

When he opens his mouth to argue, she quickly adds, "I wasn't afraid."

He was expecting her to tell him something impressive, something akin to his own adventure with the elevator, but he never imagined that Ariadne would voluntarily go down into Limbo. He didn't think she could be that foolish. He didn't know she had that kind of courage.

He's both jealous and humbled by her.

"What was it like?" he asks, quietly.

"It was incredible." She shakes her head with the memory of it. "Surreal. Did you know he and Mal were down there for nearly fifty years?"

"Yeah," he nods. "He told me a little bit about it."

Wonder and excitement passes over her eyes as she tells him more. "We literally washed up on a shore, the shore of Cobb's subconscious. There were buildings everywhere, some right at the water's edge. They were groaning and creaking, falling apart and collapsing into the sea foam. We walked away from them, towards more buildings. These were still and quiet. Too quiet. All around us you could feel how empty they were. It felt like a weird kind of metropolitan ghost town." Her eyes clear of the memories and she looks back to him. "That's how he and Mal spent their time in Limbo. They built. Until they got tired of it, then they started to build from memory, places from their past. We found Mal in a replica of their home up in a skyscraper. She had Fischer."

"Mal was there?" he asks, doubtful, not because she was there, but because her presence essentially nullifies Ariadne's assertion that Cobb isn't going to stay in Limbo.

"She was," Ariadne confirms. "She's not anymore, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I...I shot her."

"You shot Mal?"

"I had to. She stabbed Cobb."

"What? Why?" The Mal he had encountered before in dreams, Cobb's projection of her, could be malicious he knows, but she's never physically lashed out at Cobb.

"She was angry with him…and so she…she stabbed him." Ariadne looks up at him, like there's more she wants to say. "She wanted him to stay. But he wouldn't."

"And so you shot her."

She nods and hurriedly continues. "Time was running out. With her out of the way I gave Fischer a kick and was about to jump myself when Cobb told me he'd stay behind and look for Saito. I believe that he will. He'll find him and they'll come back."

Arthur nods absently when she finishes and moves to the desk to sit himself on it. He was expecting to hear something incredible, but now that he has he's not quite sure how he feels about it all.

Ariadne in Limbo. Mal stabbing Cobb. Ariadne shooting Mal. Cobb staying behind to find Saito. He almost can't believe any of it. But if all of it is true, then one of his biggest fears would be eliminated. He would no longer have to worry about Cobb being lured in by Mal and getting lost in his subconscious—never returning to reality. That would be a great load off his conscience.

But he does have other fears. Fears regarding Limbo's capabilities. How will this trip affect Cobb? Hadn't it changed him once before? And what about Saito? And Ariadne?

With worry mounting again, Arthur turns to her, studies her intently, and tries to decipher if she's in anyway different or changed.

"Arthur? You believe me, don't you? About Cobb. Or do you believe he's still at risk of not getting out of Limbo?"

He probably won't be able to detect any change until after they wake up, and even then the effect may not be immediate. But if she is affected, will she turn out like Mal? Will Ariadne become just as aloof and distant as Mal was? Or will she change in other ways? And how will that affect them?

"Arthur?"

He looks up to see Ariadne frowning.

He's getting ahead of himself. There's no evidence to suggest Ariadne will change because of the experience. It wasn't her subconscious that she had fallen into, after all. And she couldn't have been down in Cobb's for very long—a few minutes, an hour, maybe. In such short a time, whatever she experienced while she was there couldn't make a long-lasting impact on her, could it? If Ariadne was able to get herself _and_ Cobb past Mal's hold, then doesn't that make her immune to whatever psychological effects Limbo threatens?

Cobb, he can't so sure about. Only time may tell if this second trip had any effect. But Ariadne is another matter entirely. He's not sure he can see her changing in any way from her trip into Limbo. She was able to find her way out of there. She wasn't—and isn't—susceptible to losing sight of what is real and what isn't.

"Arthur?"

No, Ariadne is safe, she has to be. She's resilient. Hadn't she already proven that after facing Mal's cruelty when they first met?

And it isn't just her resiliency that leads him to believe Ariadne unsusceptible. There are also those qualities she possesses that make her invaluable to the team: her intelligence and curiosity, her talent and skill as an architect, her quick understanding of the many aspects of shared dreaming, and her intuitive instincts in regards to Cobb's issues.

Add to all that the fact that she was the only one prepared to deal with Cobb. After weeks of preparation they had all come into this job ready to perform inception. But she was the one who went down into Limbo when it was the only option to save them. She was the one to get rid of Mal.

Had Cobb known all along that she'd be able to help him? Had he known how much he'd need her? How much they'd need her?

"Arthur? You're worrying me."

Ariadne's the reason why Cobb is going to find Saito and why they'll both make it back. She's the reason why he doesn't have to worry about falling into Limbo himself.

A hand touches his and Arthur looks up to find Ariadne has made her way over and is standing right in front of him. Her anxiety deepens her frown.

"What is it? What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking…that Eames was right."

"Right about what?"

"About you being exceptional." Getting up off the desk he turns his hand over to take a hold of her concerned one. It hits him fully, everything she's accomplished. "I'm sorry it took me a while to realize it. After hearing what you did, I believe you that Cobb will come back, that he'll find Saito." She looks relieved to hear it. "And I also think he wouldn't be able to accomplish any of that without you. If you hadn't done what you did, I don't think Cobb makes it out. He would have stayed to be with Mal, I'm certain of it. One of us may have been able to find Saito, but Cobb would have been a different story."

He watches Ariadne shrug off his admiration, but her eyes brighten. "I just did what had to be done."

"No, you did more than that. I hate to say this, but I'm not sure I could have shot Mal—at least, not without hesitating. My first instincts are never to get rid of her. But you did it, and you got Cobb past her and have allowed him to go out and find Saito. No one else has done as much. I haven't. I couldn't."

It costs him a little of his pride to admit that where Mal was concerned, and more to the point Cobb, he didn't have the fortitude to do what was right, what was needed. But he doesn't want to examine the root of his deficiency or Cobb's personal demons. Not now, anyway. He'd rather preoccupy his thoughts with how lucky they are to have Ariadne here with them on the team. If they do make it out of all this relatively unscathed, and he believes more and more that it's possible, it will be in large part because of what she did.

"Your relationship with Cobb and with Mal, I think, was, or is, too close and personal. You have a lot of history with them. If I knew either one of them half as well as you do, I probably would have hesitated before shooting. But luckily for me…" she smiles wryly, "…my first impression of Mrs. Cobb didn't exactly endear her to me. I had no qualms about pulling that trigger."

"Maybe that's it, maybe it isn't. But whatever the reason, you were aware enough to know what needed to be done, more so than any of the rest of us. That sets you apart. That's why you're exceptional." He stops to think about something before continuing. "You know, Mal asked me why Cobb chose you to help him and I told her it was because you're a talented architect. But it's more than that. You're more than that."

"If you don't stop inflating my ego I think it'll threaten to crush us," she teases. "I didn't do anything extraordinary," she insists, before changing the subject. "So your Mal was curious about me? I'm actually really curious about her. I'd like to meet a version of her that isn't going to look at me like she wants to rip my eyes out. Do you think you could bring her back so that we can both satisfy our curiosity?"

She looks expectant, hoping that he'll oblige her.

But he doesn't. As much as he's loved and admired Mal, the woman before him has all his attention and focus.

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?" She frowns, disappointed. "It doesn't have to be for long. I want to meet her."

Ignoring her pout, he releases her hand and steps close, bringing both of his hands up to cup her face. Ariadne's breath hitches as he leans his head down close to hers.

"Because I've already broken that rule once. And if I'm going to break any rule more than once while we're down here, it's going to be this one." His lips capture hers in a soft kiss.

"Oh," she smiles after he releases her. "I guess if you're going to break a rule repeatedly…" she pulls his head back down toward her and smiles against his mouth, "…it might as well be this one."

* * *

**Author's Note:** If anyone is interested, I've also updated my profile page to include some of the things I'm currently off-and-on working on.


	18. I Can Do Better

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath. I don't profit from this.

**Author's Greeting:** It's alive, it's alive! It's almost been two years since I've updated this _thing. _Please enjoy!

Chapter 18 rating: NC-17; this fic contains explicit sexual content. _This_ is why this fic had been rated M. I always knew it would lead up to this, I just didn't realize it would take this long.

I'm not going to tell you not to read this if you feel you are mature enough to do so. You may also be mature enough to read this and not want to and that's fine too.

I don't know how ff polices this sort of thing, but if this chapter gets taken down, you can read all my fics over on Livejournal (link in my profile).

* * *

**Chapter 18: I Can Do Better**

Ariadne slouches in her first class seat and pretends to be interested in the latest issue of _Dwell_. In actuality she's trying, as inconspicuously as she can, to catch the first glimpse of Cobb finally waking up. The majority of the team, plus Fischer but minus Cobb and Saito, woke up nearly half an hour ago.

Earlier, when the turbulence from the plane finally manifested as an earthquake in the dream, Ariadne couldn't have been more grateful to finally be able to wake up. Eight days holed up in Yusuf's pharmaceutical building, laying low without much to do to pass the time, was eight days too long.

But now that they are in a conscious state, Ariadne can only wish that they were all still dreaming. Cobb and Saito have yet to open their eyes and they are just about ready to land in Los Angeles. Every minute the two remain asleep is just another stab at her confidence and assertion to the rest of the team that it was unnecessary to drop down into Limbo to go after them.

And after taking another quick peek at Cobb, Ariadne finds that nothing has changed.

With an inaudible sigh, she glances forward at Fischer. Since waking, he's done nothing but stare at the seat ahead of him, obviously lost in deep thought. Not even the stewardess could get his attention, having to call his name several times before he noticed her presence.

His preoccupation does provide proof, in Ariadne's opinion, that they had made some kind of impact while they were inside his head. Of course, her confidence in their success is supported by what she already knows. Inception _is_ possible. Cobb's first attempt was certain proof of that. She just hopes that the aftermath of whatever Fischer decides doesn't prove as heartbreaking—or god forbid, fatal—as Cobb and Mal's story.

The only reassurance she has that Fischer won't suffer the same fate as the Cobbs is Eames' claim that they not only successfully incepted Fischer, but in the process repaired the tenuous relationship between father and son. He's almost positive that Fischer has achieved the emotional catharsis necessary to sway his decision. Fischer, he said, would have to be truly dead inside to not be affected by what transpired between him and his father.

She hopes Eames is right.

A rustling behind her draws her attention to Arthur shifting in his seat. The sudden movement out of the corner of her eye causes her heart to beat a little faster. Slowly, she turns to see Cobb with eyes wide open, staring at her. For a moment she thinks he's wondering if this is all real, if he's finally back in reality. She gives him a small smile, one she hopes will convey the message that it is. He swallows once before looking ahead of her to Saito's seat. She turns her focus that way and sees movement. Turning back to Cobb, she sees him nod ever so slightly, as if to confirm that he's alright. A tentative relief surges through her and she resumes pretending to read her magazine. The only thing left to wait out is the walk through immigration.

* * *

The palm trees whiz by and the Southern California sunshine warms her legs as Ariadne sits gazing outside her taxi window. With the Pacific Ocean only a stone's throw away and the concrete jungle that is metropolitan Los Angeles behind her, Ariadne knows she should be enjoying the view. Instead, scenes of surreptitious goodbyes flash in front of her with the beach providing the background.

Even though Ariadne had felt relief seeing Cobb pass through immigration, a small part of her had continued to worry that he might not make his way out of the airport, that at the last minute he'd get caught. Luckily, her fears were unfounded. Though she tried hard not to look like she was following Cobb with her eyes, she knew anyone watching her intently would have seen a wistful smile touch her lips as her gaze followed the back of his head through the crowd when he left baggage claim. She caught a glimpse of Stephen among those waiting, and then all too soon both men walked away and exited the airport.

Cobb never turned back.

Not that she had expected him to. They're supposed to be strangers.

Except they're not. For her, the job, the team—the whole experience of inception, meant so much more.

Never in her life had Ariadne ever imagined she would be able to design buildings and landscapes that she'd experience in an instant by touch, sight, sound, and smell. Nor had she ever thought she might help dramatically change a man's life—two including what Fischer might decide. And to do that all while working with some of the most interesting, and perhaps dangerous men she's ever gotten to know, well, it's more than just a little overwhelming. Even thrilling.

It was for these reasons she had stood by the luggage carousel pretending to wait for another piece of luggage, thus delaying her departure from the airport. No one had warned her how difficult it would be at the end to turn around and just walk away. The others didn't think that way. For them, this was just another job. But for her, to just walk away, to say goodbye without actually doing so proved difficult.

Maybe the guys realized that too, which was why, one by one, each man left giving a brief sign of acknowledgement, the only telling sign that any relationship existed between them.

After Cobb, it was Yusuf who had been the next to leave. He headed over to a ticket counter and spoke with the woman there who in short time handed him a ticket. How he could stand to board a plane so soon after getting off one, she couldn't understand. Nonetheless, Ariadne had watched as he searched the overhead directional signs before he walked away. Luckily, she didn't miss the quick smile he gave her before walking toward his gate.

Close by, she had heard Saito fire off a rapid string of Japanese into his cell phone. When the conversation ended, he walked past her and gave a short nod. They had very little actual time alone together during the job and she had wondered if she'd ever have the chance to meet with the business man again. She couldn't imagine any circumstance that would have them cross paths a second time.

Arthur had stood a couple of feet away inspecting the bags on his luggage cart. Once satisfied that everything seemed to be in order, he pushed away towards the car rental counters. He had spared her only one last brief glance, and turned away too quickly for her to read his dark gaze.

Even Fischer took a moment to look up from some papers to catch her eye before walking toward the driver of his hired car.

Eames was the last one to say goodbye. Just when she thought she had missed his departure, which had sent her in a slight panic and caused her to swallow a sudden lump of sentimentality, the Brit appeared by her side. He held out a deck of playing cards with a picture of a cartoon kangaroo and koala playing cards that she 'apparently' dropped and he eagerly wanted to return.

"Here we are. The Viceroy."

The mental picture of Eames smiling and winking goodbye vanishes at the taxi driver's words. It takes Ariadne another few seconds to register that the taxi has stopped moving. She watches the driver exit and make his way around to retrieve her bag from the trunk before she mentally shakes herself back to reality.

Once out of the taxi she gazes up at the plain, white-façade, eight-story building. The Viceroy is by no means an architectural marvel with its utilitarian rectangular design, but the architect in her lets it slide. It doesn't matter what her hotel looks like on the outside, she only cares about what's inside. She was assured of it being a chic hotel that offered a comfortable bed and excellent service.

The thought of that comfy bed, as well as all the amenities that are awaiting her, dispels any nostalgic thoughts she had only moments ago. In fact, they reinvigorate her. Tipping the driver with some US dollars she had stashed away in her Paris apartment and had the foresight to bring, Ariadne thanks him and heads inside the hotel, her mood and her steps now filled with anticipation.

* * *

"Welcome to The Viceroy. Enjoy your stay."

The hotel clerk's parting words are little more than a drone in Ariadne's ear as she leaves the front desk and heads for the elevator. With every floor she ascends her anticipation builds; she feels it effervescing through her, from her stomach to her chest, radiating out to her arms and legs, and finally to her head. When she reaches her door she's surprised she's been able to put one foot in front of the other.

Pulling out her cardkey, she sticks it into the slot and turns the door handle. She isn't disappointed when she steps inside the suite.

Not bad. The first thing she notices is the ocean view from the opened glass door of the balcony. The ocean sparkles different hues of blue and mingles with those in the cloudless, sunny sky. She suspects the view will be even more amazing from outside. But instead of making her way out to feel the ocean breeze caress her face, she takes in the rest of the sitting room area with its modern design and foil wallpaper. The largely black and white furniture theme runs through both the sitting room and bedroom, as do the bright yellow and Kelly green accent pieces. Through the bedroom she finds the bathroom, equipped with both a large tub and a huge marble steam shower—built, no doubt, to accommodate more than one person.

Making a mental note to explore the features of the bathroom another time, she steps back into the bedroom. Ariadne examines the mirrored wall and the over-sized bed up against it taking up most of the space in the room. The bed looks as comfortable as advertised, but the mirrors on the wall make her a little nervous. She catches her glance in one, sees the dark waves of her hair falling over her white jacket, contrasting with the heated blush in her cheeks. Looking away, she turns to face the room's balcony door and the same ocean view that was beckoning her earlier. She decides she's lingered long enough. Walking over, she unlatches the door and steps out.

She's not disappointed with what she encounters.

Leaning over the railing and looking as casual as one can in a three-piece suit with the beach as his backdrop, is Arthur. He turns when he hears her step onto the balcony, one hand holding a drink, the other in his pocket.

"I was starting to think you might have changed your mind."

For some reason his words and this situation transports her back to the first time she came upon him alone in the warehouse. Maybe it's because he looks just a little bit surprised to see her. Or maybe it's because he's looking every bit as handsome as he did back then and he knows how attracted she was—still is—to him.

Either way, it prompts her to cheekily say, "I tried hard not to come, but…"

She leaves off with a teasing smile, daring him to finish her sentence much like he did the first time she uttered those exact words. Arthur smiles, unsurely at first, until he remembers. He laughs; and though her heart is beating hard and fast, a tension she didn't realize she had, falls away.

"If you're expecting me to sound like an arrogant bastard and say something like, 'there's nothing quite like…_me_', then I'm sorry to disappoint you."

She laughs along with him, secretly thinking there _isn't_ anyone quite like him.

"I'm really glad you're here."

The look in his eyes tells her this as well and she can't help smiling back. She's been waiting for this moment for a while now, this chance to be alone with him without interruptions; no job calling them back to work, no ill-timed phone calls from Cobb, no teasing remarks from mostly well-meaning forgers. It's just her and Arthur in this hotel room, away from everything and everyone.

"So am I," she says softly, stepping closer. The smell of his cologne and the ocean mingle in the air. She takes another step and pulls the drink from his hand. She watches Arthur watch her take a sip, the whiskey burning a warm path down her throat. She raises the glass to her lips a second time, finishing off the rest.

"Hey, easy." Arthur takes the empty glass from her and sets it aside. "I'm guessing you haven't had anything to eat since we got off the plane. Are you hungry? We can go out to eat. Anything you want."

She laughs, the alcohol fortifying her, and reaches out to pull his tie out from under his waistcoat, letting it glide between her fingers. He's being such a gentleman when they both know they didn't specifically plan to meet in this hotel room for food.

Fingering the tie while a teasing smile plays on her lips, she gives a gentle tug. It's just enough to bring him flush against her, trapping her hand between them. "As a matter of fact, there is something I want."

She looks up and watches his eyes darken before she stretches up, eyes closing, and touches her mouth to his. Besides the taste of whiskey on their lips, the kiss is gentle and sweet, much like when he first kissed her during his second level dream.

Arthur pulls away first and when she opens her eyes she can't help but smile at his own crooked grin. Reality is turning out to be just as good as dreams.

"You've read my mind. I was actually thinking the same thing."

"Were you? Well, I'm glad we're on the same page—ah!" Ariadne lets out a surprised shriek, automatically wrapping her arms and legs around Arthur when he deftly picks her up off the floor. A short laugh is all she can manage before he claims her mouth, this time in a kiss that leaves no doubt about his intentions—not that Ariadne doesn't already know what they are; they're hers as well.

They continue that way for several long moments, trading hot, wet kisses until nearly breathless, Arthur tears his mouth away to try and carefully guide them off the balcony and back into the bedroom. But with her own mouth unoccupied, she makes it difficult for him by taking the opportunity to taste the skin above the collar of his shirt, and then sucking hard on the spot she nipped.

"Shit." His knees weaken for a moment and he nearly crashes them into the glass door.

Unapologetic, Ariadne muffles a laugh against his neck as she continues to suck and lick the erratic pulse under his jaw.

"Ariadne, I—I promise this is…this is the only time I'm going to ask you to stop anything that you plan on doing to me—" Arthur releases a low moan when her tongue finds a particularly vulnerable spot, "—but I need to concentrate so I ca—can get us inside in one piece. Just give me a min—minute."

She kisses her way along his jaw up to his mouth and responds with, "You have five seconds."

He does it in one, closing the door behind them before silencing her laughter with his kiss. His lips and tongue migrate down to her neck where he returns Ariadne the favor of nibbling on her neck. When he gets to her particular sensitive spot, her reaction is to roll her hips into him and moan.

This time he nearly drops her.

Deciding that continuing as they are will only disable one or both of them before they can really get anywhere, she carefully slides down off him. This move only reminds them both that they still have several layers of clothing between them. They can definitely do with less.

Arthur starts to remove his coat, but this move, paradoxically, only serves to frustrate her.

"No, wait, stop!"

He freezes midway between the coat being on and off. The tension in his face and body are both visible. Reluctantly, he slips the coat back on, swallowing hard as he does so.

"Ariadne, I thought...I'm sorry, I thought you wanted this as much as—"

"No, it's not that." She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at his assumption; her expression must have given him the wrong impression because his dejection is so sincere. "That's not what I meant. I do want you. I want to do…this." She reaches out to rub his chest, feeling his heart beat under her palm. "I'm sorry. I only wanted you to stop taking off your clothes because…" she pauses to smile up at him, "…I want to do it."

"_Oh_." Instantly, she feels the tension leave him. She wants to kiss him for being so sweet, but he recovers quickly and his slow and seductive smile is so arousing she barely finds the control to restrain herself from ripping off his clothes.

"Well, okay. As long as you're gentle," he teases, bringing his arms around her, effectively containing her from stripping him naked. Then he leans close to her ear and with his voice going deep, says, "And know that I reserve the right to do the same to you." He kisses her jaw gently, then nips the same spot playfully as his hands cup her ass and squeeze.

"You're—you're stalling me." The words come out between a laugh and a moan.

"Mm. Sorry," he says unapologetically, still peppering her jaw with kisses.

"Arthur," she pleads.

Without a word—just a sexy little smirk warning her that this won't be the last time she'll be begging him to do something—he releases her.

Slowly, testing his apparent capitulation, Ariadne hesitantly reaches out to place her hands on his shoulders. Arthur doesn't move or say anything, just watches her, his eyes dark and intense. Licking her lips, she lets her hands slide down to the lapels and gently removes his coat. Because of its snug fit and her shorter arms, he steps in closer, his chest brushing against hers, and helps her guide his arms out. When she lets his coat unceremoniously drop to the floor, she feels him flinch. She smiles; his reaction, as well as the alcohol she consumed earlier buoys her confidence and she makes quick work of his tie. As soon as it's unknotted, she uses both ends to tug him down, kissing him soundly. But when he makes a move to wrap his arms around her to deepen the kiss, she pulls away, stopping him from following with a hand on his chest, a little shake of her head, and a smile.

Without a word, he acknowledges that this is her game. She's in charge and she makes the rules.

Dropping his tie on top of his coat, she starts on his waistcoat. Despite her eagerness and the alcohol, the dexterity in her fingers is still intact. The waistcoat comes off easily and joins the coat and tie. Quickly now, as if she's realizing she's finally near the end of the gift she's been unwrapping, she works on the buttons of his shirt; first the one at his throat, then the one below that. Three, four, five buttons and she's still working.

"Would you like some help?" he asks, amused when she gives a little huff of frustration as she pulls his shirt out of his pants to work on the last few buttons.

"Why do your clothes have to have so many damn buttons?" she says with exasperation when she undoes the last one before impatiently pushing his shirt off his shoulders.

Her patience pays off. For several moments Ariadne mentally celebrates the reveal, more than content to just stand there appreciating the sight of the taut planes of his chest, his lean, hard torso, and the tantalizing trail of hair that starts underneath his navel and disappears deliciously into the top of his pants.

Undeterred by her preoccupation, Arthur removes his shirt off completely.

She doesn't complain at his assistance. How can she when she's salivating at the mouth, gaping at his toned arms?

"This is what you've been hiding underneath all those clothes?" she asks, placing her hands on his shoulders, molding her hands around his muscles, caressing her way down his arms, relishing the feel of the veins in his forearms under her palms. She feels her arousal pool between her legs just imagining his arms surrounding her, supporting his weight while on top of her.

She fidgets while her imagination explores further possibilities.

"Technically, I'm still wearing half of them. Aren't you going to finish? There's still a lot more to see." She manages to tear her eyes away from gawking at his chest long enough to look up and see both amusement and desire in his.

And that damn little smirk!

She reminds herself of her continuing resolve to wipe it away.

Without another word, she reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck and kisses him hard and long. That effectively gets rid of the smirk, but also causes the need between her legs to intensify. Without breaking their kiss, she impatiently reaches down and loosens his belt, her fingers easily unzipping his pants.

Tearing himself away from her mouth, Arthur bends down to quickly remove his shoes and socks. In the process, he steps out of his pants.

"Hmm. I didn't expect this."

He's wearing tight, dark-grey boxer-briefs that aren't hiding the outline of his erection.

"What, exactly, were you expecting?"

Seeing his confusion, Ariadne pulls him closer with two fingers tucked into his waistband. She reaches up to kiss the little mole on the right side of his neck. "I don't know." She mumbles against his skin as she kisses the underside of his jaw while her hands make their way around his waist. "Something more conservative. Like boxers or something."

He looks down at her with an unbelieving expression.

"Not something so revealing." She smiles, her hands traveling below the small of his back, to cup his ass. She gives a good squeeze, laughing when he jumps at her touch. "Hmm, tight. Now, that I did expect."

Arthur's eyes promise retribution. "Okay, you've had your fun. It's my turn."

Before she knows what he's about, Arthur is kissing away her laughter and expediently removing her clothing, not taking his time as she had with him. Off comes her jacket with her blouse quickly following. Then, while claiming her mouth for another kiss, he lifts her up again and carries her to the bed where he manages to lay her down before attacking her boots and socks. They come off in such efficient alacrity that by the time she's unbuttoning her jeans and shimmying out of them, he's ready to pull them off.

Clothed only in her skimpy underwear, Arthur takes a moment to examine her fully.

"I wasn't expecting this." Stretching out beside her, he reaches down to finger the strap of her new black lace, and very see-through bra.

"What do you mean?" There's some insecurity in her question, but it quickly disappears when he leans down to kiss the delicate skin exposed above the cup of her bra.

"Your underwear," he grins. "I wasn't expecting something so…revealing." She gasps when his finger lightly traces around her nipple. Arthur watches it peak through the lace, his smile almost predatory when he repeats his actions on her other breast, achieving the same result. "Now, that I did expect."

"_Arthur_…"

Before she can chastise him for throwing her words back in her face, or bring his head down for a kiss, he bends his head down to tongue her nipple through the lace of her bra.

"Oh!" She pushes her chest up closer to his mouth as a shock of pleasure runs through all the way down to her toes. When she feels him suck the sensitized bud, the pleasure escalates and her feet scramble to find purchase against the mattress.

"God, Arthur, that feels so…" 'Good' is on the tip of her tongue. Her other nipple is on Arthur's.

"…_so good_," she ends on a moan.

"I can do better," he grins, sliding his hand around her back. Realizing his intention, she arches her back to give him better access to remove her bra, skillfully doing so with one hand and pulling it down and off her arms. When the cooler air hits her exposed nipples and hardens them even more, her first reaction is to cover herself. But Arthur stays her arms, gazing down at her with determination in his eyes.

"I promised you better." His smile is slow, sexy. He leans down to kiss his way down the length of her neck before latching on to her nipple. Without the thin layer of lace between his mouth and her skin the sensations he's creating intensify tenfold. She reaches up to cradle his head with her hands, her fingers massaging his scalp while he alternates between her breasts, detouring to kiss and nip the delicate underside of one before moving on to the other. Her breathing is erratic and she moans with nearly every touch of his lips and tongue on her skin.

But he doesn't stop there. He promised her better, and he's delivering.

Positioning himself between her legs, he slides down her body as he trails a path of wet kisses from her chest down to her navel. There, he slides his tongue in, tasting her. She leans up on her elbows and looks down to find him sheltered between her thighs. His grin is wicked when their eyes meet and without breaking eye contact he lowers his head down and sucks at the sensitive skin right above her panties, his widening grin telling her he felt her quiver. Then, with their eyes still locked, he moves down lower, his lips grazing the lace of her panties, going lower still to the apex of her thighs, to where she's so wet she's soaked through the flimsy lace of her underwear. She sees him smile before he spreads her thighs further apart to give him more room and better access. And then he presses a hard kiss against her.

"Arthur..." she sighs, wanting more.

He moves away from her to reach down and hook his thumbs into her panties, pulling them down and off easily. Now completely naked, a brief bout of shyness hits her and she presses her legs together.

"Ariadne…" he caresses her hip, "let me look at you."

The deep timbre of her name along with the dark desire in his eyes is just the right combination to make Ariadne relax her legs and allow Arthur to resettle himself between them. Smiling, he dips his head and kisses her knee. She watches him gently nip and kiss his way down along her soft inner thigh until he reaches the edge of her pussy. She can feel his breath, hot and moist, teasing her exposed flesh. Closing her eyes, she drops her head back and waits.

But instead of satisfying her need, he maddeningly skips across to her other knee to place a kiss there. A shameless pleading noise escapes her when she feels the cool air tease her skin while he slowly works his way down her other thigh, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake before pausing again as he spreads her legs further apart. She opens her eyes to see his, black and smoldering.

"Arthur," she whimpers, desperately in need of his touch.

With one last wicked smile he drops his head and leisurely slides his tongue against her sensitized labia. The contact elicits another pleading whimper, one that Arthur responds to by slowly outlining her swollen lips, causing her to roll her hips, both to increase the pressure of his mouth and guide him to where she's most needy. She can feel his smile against her and he obliges, his lips teasing her folds, playing with her. She moans as his tongue laps at her pussy, delving deep from the bottom up, traveling unhurriedly up her slit and gently teasing at her clit. He repeats his agonizingly tender ministrations, the easy licks of the flat of his tongue exploring her crevices. Her moans grow louder when his mouth clamps down on her and his lips and tongue seek and separate her clit from its enclosure. She reaches out to grasp the sheets, but Arthur's hands are there instead, entwining his fingers with hers as his tongue lightly swirls around her little pink piece of flesh. There is nothing but pleasure centered where his mouth is joined with her and she finds herself holding her breath for seconds at a time, panting, moaning, concentrating, wanting to feel and know nothing but the throbbing sensation of pleasure focused at her core, a pleasure he orchestrates with every swipe of his tongue, every suction motion of his mouth, lifting her higher and higher.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—!" Her hips twist against his mouth's assaults, a raw scream ripped out of her throat as she climaxes. She shudders, panting as she floats back down from the high, her blood racing through her veins. But Arthur doesn't stop. He returns back to her, his tongue still a sensual whirlwind of motions against her as he continues to kiss, to lick, to suck at her center.

He sustains her moans and soon the pressure builds again, her breathing is uneven and she's squirming under his mouth. Just when she thinks she can't stand anymore, his tongue reacquaints itself with her clit and does something she can only describe as fluttering; short, fast, teasing strokes against her sensitive little nub that has her writhing in ecstasy, straining against him until just the right amount of pressure of his tongue has her snapping and jerking her hips away from his mouth from the intense pleasure of it all as she comes a second time.

"Ohhh, Ar—whoa—_wow_," she stutters, her breathing harsh, labored as Arthur tenaciously finds his way back and continues to lap his tongue against her, sustaining the warm tingling spasms between her legs that has her dying that sweet death a third time.

A languid euphoria spreads throughout her body as he places one last kiss against her before she feels his smooth, hard body slide back up along hers, his constrained erection grazing her thigh before settling against her hip. When she's finally able to open her eyes, his smile is pompous and his voice rough when he comes face to face with her. "Just, 'wow'?"

She laughs at his arrogance, knowing her words fall short of the proper appreciation he deserves given the evidence of her arousal coating his mouth and the waves of pleasure her body is still recovering from.

"I'm sorry you think I wasn't more appreciative," she says after pulling his head down to kiss his mouth. The taste of her is on his tongue, and after kissing him, her lips. "I didn't realize you need me to stroke your ego," she teases, snaking her hand down between their bodies and into his underwear, eagerly finding his cock. "Such a big ego."

He tenses at her touch and harshly whispers her name into the crook of her neck as he thrusts his pelvis, pushing himself through her palm. His erection throbs in her hand and for a moment she marvels at how hard and smooth he feels in her palm.

"And pretty sensitive too, so be careful with it," he groans.

"Don't worry. When I'm done with you you'll be saying more than just 'wow'." She licks his jaw and in a firm but gentle grasp, begins to stroke him. Her hand moves experimentally at first, gliding all the way down to the base of his shaft, pausing briefly to cup and massage his testicles before sliding back up his length to his cockhead.

"How's that?" she whispers, biting on his earlobe.

"Jesus, Ariadne," Arthur hisses into her neck. "That's—that's good."

"Just 'good'? I can do better," she teases.

Gradually, she increases her pace, pumping him in her hand, using a slight twisting motion. When she feels a bead of moisture at the head of his cock, she uses her thumb to spread it around.

Arthur releases a shaky breath and reaches down, his grip vice-like around her wrist, stopping her movements. He lets her go when she releases him, kissing her until she's breathless.

"I need to be inside of you," he groans, hurriedly maneuvering out of his underwear. "Now."

The sight of Arthur's erection springing free from its confines stimulates her arousal once again and Ariadne feels more moisture pool between her legs.

Bringing him back down on top of her, Ariadne engages him in a fervent kiss, pulling at Arthur's bottom lip with her teeth while he finds the will to move away from her and reach above into the bedside table for a box of condoms. She doesn't have time to contemplate when he might have put them there as his quick, nimble fingers rip open a packet and roll one onto his erection.

With their eyes focused on each other, Arthur's steady hand guides his cock to her entrance, pushing in slowly through her slick heat. She breathes in and exhales sharply at his intrusion; the deeper he goes, the more he stretches and fills her.

"You feel tight," his words are strained, bordering on a groan.

Bending her knees and spreading herself to accommodate him, she moans and takes in quick breaths when his hips meet hers and he's buried fully inside her. Her walls constrict all around the rigid length of him and she knows he can read the slight discomfort she feels. He doesn't move, just bends his head down to kiss her, letting her know he'll give her some time to adjust. She kisses him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. She can feel the tense muscles there, the effort it's taking to deny himself from thrusting himself in and out of her.

Meeting her eyes again, Arthur watches her reaction as he slowly withdraws his cock from her a little bit before sheathing himself back in fully.

"Are you okay?"

Ariadne moans and nods her head. "Keep going."

He repeats his movements, nice and slow, eliciting more low moans from her. Eventually, he increases his rhythm and stroke, bringing his cock out until only his tip remains, before gradually plunging himself back into her. She exhales a sharp breath and groans out loud when he does this, urging him to continue until she's rolling her hips to meet his.

"Ugh!" Arthur grunts, his voice strained when she slams back into him, hard. "Ariadne that's—you feel so good."

Enjoying the fullness of him deep inside her, she moans in agreement.

Arthur kisses her mouth hard one last time before pulling himself out of her completely. Ariadne makes a pleading noise that turns into a keening one when he plunges back into her.

"_Ungh! Arthur_!"

"Do you like that?" Arthur watches her as he pulls out part-way before smoothly driving back in. "Does that feel good?"

Ariadne takes a quick breath as he pushes in again. "Ohh. Yeah." When he pulls back out, she manages a half-smile and a breathy moan, "But I think you can do better."

Arthur pauses for a second before grinning and driving back into her hard.

"Like that?" he asks, leaning down to suck the skin under her jaw, exposed when Ariadne throws her head back and yells out. He drives into her again and she sees stars behind her closed eyes, the pleasure almost intolerable.

"Yes, more! Faster!" Bringing her hips up to meet his, she hurriedly matches him thrust for thrust, showing him what she wants and where she wants it. Arthur grunts his approval and increases his pace, causing her to pant an affirmative litany to the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Ohhhh, yeah, right there, right there—" She's already close to coming, she can feel it. The thought of how quickly he's bringing her to orgasm again helps to propel her there even closer.

Arthur's pace quickens again, his own heavy breathing and grunting signaling that he's close as well. Underneath him, she shifts her hips trying to find the one spot that will angle him just right and drive her over the edge. Responding to her movement, he bends down low to drape himself close to her and pushes into her in short, quick strokes. Her moans turn into high-pitched gasps of rapture when she wraps one of her legs around his waist, spreading herself wider, allowing his cock to penetrate her deeper.

"Arr—you're—_oh!_"

Arthur works her over in hard, deep thrusts as he urges her on. Ariadne strains against him and grabs his arms as he shifts inside her, finally finding just the right friction to spark an intense quickening deep within her; it sets off a chain-reaction through her body that has her screaming out, pulsating around his cock, ultimately shuddering in ecstasy as she groans his name. Arthur continues to move inside her in long, slow strokes, letting her ride out her orgasm. But his control soon runs out and abruptly he rapidly pumps himself back into her with short, uneven strokes that begins to spark a need in her again. This time however, Arthur's pace is self-centered and harried as he seeks his own release and before long he's driving into her with one last powerful stroke that lodges him deep inside as he groans hard and collapses on top of her.

Weak-limbed and completely sated, Ariadne keeps her eyes closed against the early afternoon sunshine, Arthur's body a slick, warm, and comfortable weight on hers. They lay that way together, waiting for their racing hearts to slow, bodies still entwined, trying to catch their breath.

After a few moments, Arthur shifts to get off her and discards the condom in the process. He quickly returns to lay by her side.

"You were worth the wait."

She grins, bringing his head down for a round of lazy, lingering kisses. "So were you."

He kisses her back, tenderly, reverently, before trailing a path along her jaw then down to her neck.

Ariadne lifts his head away from his ministrations to look at him directly. "But I'm hoping we don't have to wait too long for the next time." She runs her hands along his smooth shoulders, bringing them together to rest on his chest. Between them, Arthur's cock stirs.

"Is that a challenge?" he moans before returning to nuzzle her neck. "Because I think I completed the last one pretty admirably."

She laughs, bringing his head up again, this time for a kiss. "Mmm, yeah, you did. But I think you may be up for this next one." She slowly grinds her hips into him, making him thicken even more. "Yeah, you're definitely up for it…" she smiles before he leans down to kiss her one, two, three times, "…I just hope you don't mind us taking our time."

"No," Arthur smiles back. "I don't mind at all."

* * *

**Author's Confession:** It is my personal head canon that these two hooked up immediately after the job. And yes, the sex is somewhat idealized, as most sex in fanfic is.


End file.
